


Enduring Knight

by KuraNova



Series: Enduring Knight [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Some Humor, addiction warning, noncon threats warning, slightly AU, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 168,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraNova/pseuds/KuraNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mages and Templars were never meant to be together. Why, then, was he so compelled by her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is my first Dragon Age fic and first fan fiction (huzzah)! I am really excited about getting this going.
> 
> Since I am lacking a beta, please excuse any grammatical errors you may happen upon during the course of your reading. I try my best to edit, but may not catch everything. Thank you for your time. Please enjoy!

His mentor had once told him that the world in which they lived was a mirror of each individuals' attitudes and expectations. Sound advice, though at the time he was not particularly interested in the ramblings of an old Templar. He had seen for himself in these past weeks, and since the extinction of the Order at Kirkwall, just how accurate that statement was.

He skillfully blocked a cleaving blow with his shield. The tarnished metal was adorned with deep scars and bore the tell tale pockmarks of more than one encounter with an Immolation spell. One such scar marred the top line of the shield - a chunk that had been effortlessly removed by Uldred. That one bothered him the most. Iit angered him into action in times such as these - not that he would need much coercion to raise a banner against a giant hole in the sky.

Parry, turn, block, and bring the blade down to sever the arm. He repeated these actions like a machine, occasionally eyeing his troops' status as he fought to bar the demons from taking the hill and overrunning the camp. It was like a dance, though he had never been one for dancing, one in which he could lose himself to his purpose.

"Commander!"

He struck the final blow to a hissing demon, stepping down on the horrid things' rib cage to loosen his sword. An eye turned toward the doorway where still more demons were spilling into this world, but he had time.

He straightened and cracked his back, loosening his shoulder a bit as he regarded the form of the Seeker Cassandra hurrying toward him. Solas, Varric, and someone he did not expect followed close behind her.

"What in the Fade is she doing here?" He growled, narrowing his eyes on the seemingly harmless woman. The subject of his ire retreated a step, eyes wide, taking comfort beside Solas. As expected. Mages cling to other mages.

"She is here to help, Commander." Cassandra replied swiftly. She showed no indication that she objected to her charge, nor that the woman possessed a staff - a weapon. It was only through her confidence that he managed to leash more foul behavior.

"Well, let us hope she actually can. Incoming!" He yelled past them, issuing orders to his remaining troops as another wave of demons descended upon them. Untrusting of the prisoner, he watched her very carefully and didn't stray far from her side. If she did choose to run, he would restrain her.

He hadn't expected to find her so...lacking. She fumbled with the staff, as if she'd never held such an object in her life, nor could she manage to mete out an adequate spell. THIS was their help? Oh, he would have strong words for Cassandra if they made it out of this alive.

"Drop it!" A voice sounded just behind him as he attempted to distract a demon from them. Solas, he realized, was taking the staff from the woman. "If you feel more comfortable casting with your hands, my friend, then do so. We cannot afford to be a mage down in this fight."

The Commander snorted. Give him Templars in trade for mages any day - especially the kind of mage that murders the Divine.

Clearly more apt casting simpler spells without a catalyst, the prisoner and the rest of the group made short work of the demons. It appeared that no more were coming through the tear in the sky, at least for the moment.

The Seeker sheathed her sword and, after a pause, so did he. Solas assisted the prisoner forward to the rift, held up her hand, and to the Commander's amazement, pulled closed the tear. Well, that was certainly something. He eyed the larger tear just through the destroyed temple's archway. "Can you close that and end all of this, then?"

"That is the plan, Commander, yes." Solas replied. The woman still looked at him with the wide eyes of fear. If she was a murderous apostate, then she well should be.

"Come, then. We've not much time." Cassandra spoke. She was almost gentle with the woman. "Are you ready?"

The prisoner nodded. "I will try my best." Her voice was surprisingly cultured. It was soft, mild, and lilted like the music from a harp. He had not expected that, nor the ease of his temper with it.

He caught the Seeker's eye and nodded. "Maker watch over you."

* * *

"You cannot possibly presume to keep her here! She's a criminal! Send her off to Val Royeaux and be done with it."

"She can close the rifts. Do I need to explain again the benefit of such an ability when we are, if fact, attempting to do just that?"

"Regardless of either of your opinions, we cannot send her away. Leliana's point is valid, and now the people of Haven truly believe the woman to be the Herald of Andraste."

"We do not know that for certain. No one does! What if she simply manipulates us to further her influence over Thedas? What if murdering the Divine was the first step?"

An irritated sigh preceded a question. "Cassandra, you're the only one of us to have extended contact with her. What is your judgement of her character?"

The silence extended for a long while, so long that the woman listening on the other side of the heavy pine door almost gave up and entered despite the angst she would be exposed to.

"I...I do not believe she is responsible for what happened at the Conclave. Whatever she is, whoever she is, she is no killer. She cannot even manage a staff properly, nor utilize her powers adequately - at least from what I have seen in comparison with other Mages."

"I will concede that point," the Commander spoke, now calmer. "From my observations on the field, I agree that she could not have murdered the Divine on her own. That does not mean she did not have help."

There was a faint knock on the door, and the Commander had a sneaking suspicion that the weak, unobtrusive noise was indeed produced by the subject of their conversation. "Enter."

At first he did not recognize her. Gone was the unwashed waif he'd scrutinized three days before. In her place stood a woman of noble mien, albeit timid and shy. Just who was this mysterious creature? If she truly had nothing to do with the Divine's death, then what on earth was she doing at the Conclave? And why, he grumbled to himself, did he find her particularly becoming as she walked through the doorway and to Cassandra's side?

That would not do.

"I believe more formal introductions are needed, since our guest will be remaining with us for some time." Cassandra made a point of holding the Commander's gaze until she was certain he had heard and understood her. An almost imperceptible, stiff nod was the only response she got, but at least it was not the argument she had been expecting.

"Yes, introductions are overdue," Josephine took up her banner of amenability. "Welcome to the Inquisition, Herald of Andraste. My name is Josephine Montiliyet. I serve as our Ambassador - to placate the concerns of the gentry and those who might be concerned with our motives."

Recognition alighted in the woman's eyes, the Commander noted.

"Montiliyet? I believe my family has had dealings with yours in the past." The prisoner spoke and again he found himself fascinated by the sound.

"Just who is your family?" Josephine scribbled something on her board as she asked.

"My name is Evelyn. I come from House Trevelyan of Ostwick in the Free Marches."

Josephine nearly dropped her quill. "Trevelyan? You're a noble?" she squeaked, then seemed to reign herself in. Clearly she had not been expecting their prisoner, the Herald of Andraste, to be of noble blood. "Forgive me, my lady. May I send word to your family? I will inform them of your survival."

Trevelyan seemed at once relieved, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Yes, Lady Montiliyet, I would appreciate that very much." She hesitated. "Might you also add a note telling my father to stay put?"

"Of course." Josephine smiled. "If your father is Lord Adair Trevelyan, perhaps I should also send an emissary….and several gifts."

"Adair Trevelyan?" The hooded woman spoke, a smirk quirking up the corner of her mouth. "Indeed. I have heard stories."

The Commander felt decidedly put out. He recognized the name, but that changed little. He'd no patience for nobility. Were they to treat her like a princess, then? Were they to completely disregard her involvement in this recent mess?

Cassandra's voice cut into his thoughts as he began to feel the blood rushing in his ears. "This is Sister Leliana, the Left Hand of the Divine just as I am the Right."

Leliana nodded and smiled at Trevelyan. "I serve to protect our interests as quietly as possi-"

"She is a spy," Cassandra sighed, clearly not caring for the flowery words Leliana would drape about her profession.

"Yes. A spy. Thank you for your tact, Cassandra."

"A pleasure to meet you, Sister Leliana."

The Seeker ignored the ruffled spymaster, then turning to the disgruntled, stone-faced man who stood at the far end of the massive table. "And you have already met Commander Cullen," Cassandra stated thinly, watching him with an intent that told him to keep his mouth shut.

"Only for a moment on the field," he grumbled from between his teeth, quickly nodding toward the table. "May we get on with business? I need to see that our new arrivals actually know where to lay their heads tonight."

Trevelyan withheld her greeting. It appeared he would think little of it, anyway. She recognized him for what he was - a Templar. In the Ostwick Circle she has seen hundreds, if not thousands, of the Order's men and women cycle through. They were fairly easy to spot with their rigid stance and even more austere personalities. Still, she had never been in conflict with any of them until now. She might have even called some friends until the rumblings of the rebellion extended from Kirkwall to her Circle. Just why did he find her so intolerable? The uncertainty gnawed at her. She was unused to such open hostility.

She stood puzzling over him for a time as the others bent their heads over the array of maps and reports on the table. He was physically attractive, but he was an abrasive, unyielding man who was perhaps too keenly aware of himself and his standing. Prideful, she decided. Well then, he was not the sort she wanted to be around anyway. She swore to make herself scarce in his presence and avoid the cantankerous Templar at all costs.

Just as the vow completed itself inside her head did he look up, meeting her eyes for but a moment. Was that surprise? No. His expression morphed into a decidedly surly glare, and he quickly finished his piece and left the room.

* * *

"Blondy, it's fine. He's just got this giant stick up his ass."

Cassandra snorted, bringing a hand up to muffle her reaction to the Dwarf's statement. "Varric, the Commander is not only well qualified, but he understands explicitly what we are up against. He has fended off a demon uprising at the Circle Tower in Ferelden, he was instrumental in keeping the peace during the abysmal happenings in Kirkwall, and let us not forget that he is the one who organized the Inquisition forces so expeditiously after the Temple of Sacred Ashes."

"That makes two grouchy warriors that need to pull their head's out of their asses," Varric muttered beneath his breath, though not nearly quiet enough for Evelyn to ignore.

She reddened at the language, momentarily trying to envision such a position and failing. "Still, Varric, I do not understand what I have done wrong. Surely if I approach him and apologize…"

"That will not work." Cassandra spoke, effectively cutting Varric off. "You have done nothing wrong. The Commander's own misgivings about you are his doing and his alone. He must change how he perceives you. It is a combination of his past as a Templar and his own personal experiences with mages."

"Way to be a great cheerleader, Seeker." Varric rolled his eyes, settling them on the rather pretty Herald of Andraste. Her pale, almost white-blonde hair hung over her shoulder in a simple plait, blue eyes shifting between the Seeker and the Dwarf with uncertainty.

"Whatever happened," Evelyn began carefully, "it was bad?"

"It is not for me to say, but I will let you know that he has good reason to be cautious. His spite is something I do not agree with. One mage might attempt to take your life, but that does not mean ever magic user in Thedas is a dangerous criminal."

Evelyn's spirits were bolstered by Cassandra's words. She had come to view the Seeker as a mentor, a teacher of sorts. Despite her rather blunt attitude, she was honest and listened to what Evelyn had to say although the Seeker was much more experienced in the field. It made her feel part of the Inquisition, though for the moment they were only keeping her for the value of the strange mark on her hand. At least with Cassandra, she felt as if she had some value beyond that.

"A mage tried to kill him?" she asked, expression forming into a frown, hand resting at the base of her throat. "Perhaps he did have good reason."

"I do not know the entire story, but yes. That is the long and the short of it."

"Dunno about you guys, but I have a feeling the faster we get these horses for the Inquisition the happier Curly will be. The Commander has been bitching about faster troop movement ever since we got that missive from Harding."

Evelyn looked around at the vast expanse before them as they meandered their way down to a small village. Large formations of granite reached up toward the cloudless sky, breaking up the young greenery in the distance. Early spring had arrived in the Hinterlands, and she would be remiss if she did not take the opportunity to enjoy herself. Flowers bloomed everywhere, a multitude of animals scampered out of their way, and while the sun was out there was still a coolness in the air that would make the long walk to Master Dennet's farm pleasurable.

If she were honest, she would say she was relishing in this experience. Although her Circle had dissolved some months before, Evelyn was still getting used to feeling the sun on her skin when it wasn't shining through a window. The feeling of fresh air and all of the sights and smells she knew she would keep with her for as long as she lived. For a Circle mage, getting out and seeing the world was a dream come true.

"This place is wonderful!" She exclaimed, turning round as she walked for a complete view.

Varric eyed the vacant homes, rotting and breaking thatched roofs, decrepit gardens, and the mud he was sloshing in up to his thighs and raised a brow at her wide-eyed fascination. "You know, you're acting a lot like a dwarf seeing the surface for the first time."

"Varric," Cassandra growled, "Circle mages rarely leave the confines of their towers. They get windows, but little else."

"The windows were barred shut on most floors," Evelyn spoke gently, still preoccupied with the scenery.

The Dwarf smacked his palm to his forehead. "Right. Sometimes I forget Circle mages get the short end of the stick. Scratch that- I'd like to forget. Hawke was lucky."

"Indeed, she was. It was risky living as an apostate, but she hid her talents well."

"Well enough to hide from the Chantry, eh Seeker?"

Cassandra glared at him, eliciting a petulant chuckle.

"Ah, that would be Fort Connor up ahead," Solas finally spoke, drawing Evelyn's attention back to the path before them.

* * *

Cullen had considered the wisdom of his decision in allowing the prisoner to leave with none in attendance but Cassandra. The apostate elf, he felt, would do little if she tried to make a run for it and he was always uncertain of Varric's motives.

While he had no doubt of the Seeker's capability, he'd not had time enough to assess their newest mage addition to ascertain her abilities. So far her only recommendations were a murdered Divine, the Breach, and a conveniently misplaced recollection of events leading up to that entire debacle. The chaos was enough to set his teeth on edge. He enjoyed order - to a fault according to some. Back in Kirkwall he received countless manner of teasing from his subordinates, though by far his worst critic had been Hawke. The reckless, egocentric mage had called him everything from a "guilty prude" to "nug-humping altar boy". He could hardly keep the derisive snort from leaving him as his small contingent of soldiers prepared to move eastward from the Crossroads.

Hawke. He sighed, bringing up one hand to rub his temple. Frustrating though she was, he found he missed their heated little spats. Near the end of their association he would have almost admitted to being infatuated with her. It irked him to no end that he'd nearly fallen for a mage, but in all their time together he had come to see more than that in her, and that terrified him. If anything had happened to her, Maker forbid, would he have been able to do what was necessary to end her?

He wasn't sure.

A weight settled on his heart as he swung a leg over his mount, signalling to his men to begin their march. They would head eastward and cover ground in the opposite direction of Cassandra's party. It was Cullen's hope that they would make contact with the Templars in this region and be able to persuade them to the Inquisition's cause. While he had his misgivings about the leadership within the Order, the majority of the men were decent.

He nudged his black war horse with the heels of his equally black boots, urging the beast to climb a rather steep hill situated near one of their outposts. As the group reached the crest of the hill he paused, the smell reaching him before the sight of the huge black plume of smoke just off the road.

Maker.

"Fire!" He yelled, the rest of his contingent spurring their mounts after his own as he drove his stallion up yet another hill driving him straight into a group of Templars. They did not look particularly pleased. In fact, one swung his sword right at his mounts' chest causing him to quickly dismount and draw his own weapon.

"Desist!" He called, blocking yet another blow from the same man. "I'm not with the mages! I'm with the Inquisition!"

"Piss on your Inquisition!" Another yelled. "We will not be swayed from our duty to eradicate magic from the surface of Thedas!"

Ah, yes. This was going so very well. He grunted at another blow, glancing this time off his shoulder as he wished he'd had the sense to pull his shield off his horse. Just in time, however, his men joined in, taking but moments to put down the other Order deserters.

Disappointed though he was that the others had not survived their misplaced anger, his own gleaming sword was angled just so over the throat of the man who'd first engaged him. He wanted this man judged. Those of the Order were to be held to a much higher standard. It seemed this brute had lost sight of that. "Arrest him," he ordered quietly to his second who jumped into action. Only when the brute was sufficiently bound did Cullen remove his weapon, now looking at the skeleton of the farmhouse engulfed in flame.

There was a snap to his movements as he ordered his men to remain with the Templar and jogged to the door of the house, squinting his eyes against the brightness of the flame. It took two well-placed kicks to the weakened, locked door before it burst inward revealing a dozen or so bodies.

Mages. Maker…

He felt his eyes beginning to water from the smoke billowing around him, entering the home and purposefully moving toward the tangle of bodies. Dead. Dead. More dead. Damnit! His blood boiled in his veins. Desperation had him checking each un-moving body.

"Commander!" He heard the call somewhere behind him. Beams holding the roof cracked and sagged overhead. Please, Maker, if there's only one…

An answer to his prayers, she whimpered when he removed the dead woman from atop her small body. Not waiting for the roof to cave in and seal her fate, he swiftly tugged her from the floor and made for the door, exiting in time to hear a small pop and a crash as the far wall buckled beneath the weight of the frame.

Sucking in lungfuls of blessedly cool, clean air, he held the young girl in his arms, carefully looking her over.

She could not have been older than ten years, a slight thing. Her weight was featherish and concerning. How long had she been out here in the wilderness, practically starving to death?

"Commander?" He looked up at the fresh faced recruit, concern beetling his brow.

"My water skin." Cullen ordered, carrying the girl over to a woodpile far from the burning building. He propped her up against the unyielding detail, removing his gloves and taking the skin from the recruit. Having poured a bit of water into his palm to wet it, he gingerly began to wetten and removed the soot from around her nose and eyes so that she would not inhale more of the offensive and deadly matter than she already had. She stirred again, eyes fluttering open. He did not believe that she could discern his shape or any other. Her eyes were unfocused and bloodshot, but at least she lived. It was more than he could say for the others that had sought to protect her.

Again he felt the red haze of rage settle over him. Standing slowly, he told the recruit to watch her, thrusting the skin into his hands under the order that he was to give her the remainder upon her waking. It was then he stalked over to the suitably hog-tied man, the ring of steel sluicing through the air above the roar of the flames in the background. Sword drawn, Cullen stopped feet from the vile creature, eyes narrowed.

His voice was quiet when he spoke. "Did you set fire to this home?"

The thing spat, an inflaming chuckle bubbling from between his teeth. "There was a whole group inside! Got them magic-loving bastards in one g-"

The words were silenced. Cullen's sword lodged skillfully between the vertebrae of the man's neck. Naught but a disgusting gurgle left his vile mouth then.

"Put him on the fire with the others," he growled, wiping the blood off of his blade before re-sheathing it. Surveying the scene, the destruction, the brutality - this was why he left the Order. He could not abide such inhumanity.

He made his way back to the girl, pleased to see she had been roused enough to drink. Still bleary-eyed, she managed to sit up further as Cullen crouched to meet her.

"Thank you, ser," she managed, voice emerging as a croak. It wounded him, but he took solace in her still beating heart.

"No thanks are necessary," he reached out to ruffle her hair, a rare smile softening his expression. "You are safe with me."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Their two parties met at the Dennet holding later that evening after a rather trying experience as far as Evelyn was concerned. Upon approaching the farm they had encountered resistance in the form of a rift and the fact that Horsemaster Dennet was completely unwilling to allow the Inquisition to use his horses for their cause without fixing each and every one of his problems first.

Cassandra had attempted to mitigate the situation, but the Seeker's urgency in the matter of procuring mounts caused her to tip their hand to the wizened farmer, who figured he could squeeze a bit more than coin out of the organization. He was a sly one, Evelyn would give him that. She once knew a mage who could pilfer a Templar's Lyrium by just shacking up to their ego for five minutes. Needless to say that didn't last long. Eventually he'd gone too far and no one had seen him again.

Evelyn's own upbringing allowed her to negotiate a bit better, not that she spent any meaningful time bargaining for anything but potion ingredients, but the concept and application were just the same. Eventually she had reasoned well enough with Dennet for the man to meet them halfway.

The tasks were simple in theory, though Evelyn suspected having watchtowers built would throw a kink into Cullen's rigidly smooth operating schedule. Well, if the blighted man wanted horses he'd have to pay. At least Dennet hadn't wanted to discuss the coin involved. Her knowledge of a fair price extended only so far as produce and then she was up a creek without a paddle.

Rifts, fade touched wolves, demons, a blighted lost druffalo, and several tower markers later Varric, Solas, Cassandra, and herself had secured mounts for the Inquisition despite nearly falling asleep in their saddles. It had been a trying day.

"It appears the Commander has finished scouting the Eastern fields," Cassandra observed with a tired sigh as a small group of soldiers rode toward them headed by the man Evelyn least wished to see at that moment. She was steadfastly choosing to ignore that he had left behind his dress armor in Haven in favor of a much more practical set that left very little to the imagination in regards to the build of the man underneath. Blue-black steel plate glinted orange in the light of the setting sun, his wavy hair set alight in a halo about his head.

Maker, that arrogant beast was beautiful.

Belatedly she noticed the tired look in his eyes and the two skinny arms wrapped about his waist as they slowed to meet Evelyn's group. She immediately recognized the young girl as a mage, though she'd just barely begun to show her abilities. It seemed that nothing had gone quite as planned for anyone today.

"I see you were successful," he spoke to Cassandra in that smooth voice of his, his eyes roaming over their horses. "Good. That's now one thing off of my mind."

Cassandra shrugged a shoulder. "Do not look at me. Evelyn handled the negotiations. Without her we would still be trying to entice that stupid animal back into its pen."

"Animal?" He queried, momentarily confused.

Evelyn moved to explain. "A farmer lost one of his druffalo in the canyon." She jerked a thumb behind her where the land-form began. "We had to bring it back as part of our payment to master Dennet. Luckily, druffalo like blood lotus and I happened to have some."

He regarded her with that unwavering, unnerving gaze of his as if he was trying to mentally dissect her. "I see." Oh that was it, was it? No thanks for the hard work? His manners were positively abominable.

She grumbled inwardly as the Seeker and the Templar moved to choose a place to camp and it was not much longer after that their small army had settled down for the night.

* * *

"And what's that one?"

"That? It's called Silence, but I understand in Tevinter they call it Silentir. You see the bright star at the very tip of the tail?" Evelyn's long, graceful arm reached out to point out the part of the constellation she meant.

"Mhmm."

"Travelers use that star to tell them where they are and where they're going."

"How does it work? Don't stars move? Once...I remember my mamma telling me that she saw one shooting across the sky."

Evelyn turned her head toward the girl, trying not to feel guilty for the circumstances in which she now found herself. Torn from her mother and raised in a crumbling Chantry was not a proper way to rear young, inexperienced mages. "Some stars move, yes." She continued, attempting to leave the more sensitive topic behind. "But the reason they use that one is because it never moves. It hasn't since the Elves ruled Thedas."

"Wow...What's that one, Evelyn?"

The mage smiled, finding her own comfort in speaking with the girl. Just for a moment it felt like she was back in the Circle. It felt like home.

Cullen released the buckle to the last strap of his horse's bridle, listening to the pair speak. He'd not gone far from them. What with a fledgling mage and an alleged criminal in tow, he could hardly afford to become complacent. Despite his misgivings about her motivations, however, the ex Knight Commander found himself listening to Evelyn intently. She was quite learned and patient. Not once had he heard a complaint or felt frustration in her words. Truly, he was finding more and more difficult to envision her murdering an old woman in cold blood.

When his unit has first come upon their party he hadn't recognized the woman. Her soft, wavy hair had come free of its tie and floated about her heart-shaped face like a golden cloud. Even spattered with mud and twigs tangled in her hair, her sapphire eyes still shone with confidence. Then their eyes had met...Maker, he felt like he'd been struck by lightening.

But he'd been wrong before...

He belatedly realized the folly of his wandering thoughts when his mount took a step back and onto his boot. Swallowing a curse, he lightly swatted the animal with the reins, freeing his bruised toes almost instantly. He was about to inspect the horse's handiwork when Cassandra came upon him.

"I understand you are still lurking around Evelyn because you do not trust her."

"I don't trust any mage." He frowned. "Nor do I lurk."

"If you wish to know more of her, why not simply ask? She would be willing to explain her past."

"Mages lie, Cassandra. None of them are nearly as altruistic as they appear to be."

"Neither are you and I, Commander." She sighed, wanting to give him a good shake. Could he not see that this girl was simply not the guilty party in this affair? "Even if she is lying about herself and her intentions here, which I do not believe she is, she could not have killed the Divine. Nor," she skewered him with a pointed look, "do I believe that any self-respecting villain in this debacle would work with her."

"Is she that spoiled? Circle mages forever griping about imprisonment, but the second they no longer have their comfortable silks and hot meals they complain with a persistence that would try Andraste herself."

Cassandra suppressed a smirk. "No. She is actually quite considerate. I will just say that she has no grasp of offensive magic. She can create impressive barriers and heal wounds, but that is all. If the mark on her hand is some sort of weapon to us as well as the demons...I have not seen it wielded as such."

"So she's a healer?" he said slowly.

"And a damn good one if I say so, myself." Varric emerged from the shadows, giving the horses a wide berth. He didn't fancy getting kicked in the head. At his arrival Cassandra narrowed her eyes but said nothing, only causing the dwarf to bestow her with his characteristic smirk. He then turned his attention back to Cullen, growing a bit more serious. "Look, I know some bad shit has happened to you in the past, but don't take it out on Evelyn until you get to know her better." He paused. "Or don't take it out on her at all. That's a start." At the Commander's dubious look Varric decided to hit below the belt on this one. Evelyn was too sweet of a girl to have this prig hovering over her like a jailer. "She's like Hawke. She has good intentions despite being born with a connection to the Fade." At that Varric knew he'd at least some success in getting the Commander to consider. He could practically see the cogs turning behind those eyes of his.

"Well, I hate Templars." A small voice sounded back from where Cullen had been listening moments before.

"Oh? Why is that?" Evelyn replied, seeming genuinely curious.

"They hurt people like us." The girl said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and Evelyn had grown daft.

"Some do, yes. Not all Templars have bad intentions, though. Some truly do want to protect us."

"Not enough," the girl grumbled, settling into a sullen pout.

Evelyn smiled. "Templars are people just like you and I. If you dislike them all simply for their armor and not the person inside of it then you are just as guilty as they are of being prejudiced."

"I am not a Templar!"

"No. You're right. You're not a Templar. You are a mage. You have a responsibility to not carry on with all of the hatred that caused this mess in the first place."

The girl sunk further down onto the ground with a scowl. There was a moment where Evelyn weighed her options carefully, trying to get this child to see that everyone was in this mess together and they, Maker forgive them, were all in part responsible for the bad things that'd happened.

"You know the Commander is a Templar? An ex Knight Commander, in fact. You don't think he's a bad person, do you?"

Unbidden, Cullen's muscles tensed. The last thing they needed was a frightened mage who'd no control over her power.

"No...he's a good person," the girl relented much to Cullen's relief. "I wish every Templar was like him."

Evelyn smiled perhaps for the first time since Cullen had known her, and he could practically hear Varric's roguish smirk. "Told you so, Curly." Cullen looked down with a glare at the dwarf, who simply chuckled and walked over to the pair of mages, saying something quietly to Evelyn before offering to tell a story for the girl.

When Evelyn looked up she found Cullen watching her, though she couldn't place what he was thinking. At least he wasn't glaring at her she thought, strangely pleased. They watched (or as Varric might say, gazed at) each other for an expanse of time Cullen found he could barely recall passing before she turned away.

* * *

The passing days saw the group finish the watchtowers Dennet had wanted so badly, and though the process was hopelessly boring for Evelyn, she knew that they would allow the remaining refugees in the Hinterlands some peace of mind. Currently they lay somewhere in the foothills of the Frostbacks, a place where winter was slow to relinquish its hold. Despite the lingering chill in the air, numerous flowers had begun to bud, smattering the snow in a delightful array of colors.

The long trek back to Haven afforded the group some time to get to know each other. The Commander, she noticed, said very little. Then again, so did she. There wasn't much to tell. She'd been raised in the Circle since the age of nine and focused her talents on healing. She'd desired to help people, and the less attention she got from Templars the better. While she'd never had a problem, she suspected a large part of that luck had to do with the fact that she'd chosen an art that was defensive but also non-threatening. Mages who pursued their aptitude in more violent or harmful disciplines would garner much more negative attention.

"Where did you learn how to ride?"

The voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"Huh?"

Cullen's lips twitched as he almost allowed a smile, but instead he settled for a stern frown. "Where did you learn how to ride a horse? Circle mages are not usually allowed outside."

"Oh," Evelyn spoke quietly, feeling herself growing a bit nervous. How could she put this fairly without revealing too much? "My family, the Trevelyan's, we are known for our horsemanship." She realized with some dismay that they had separated from the group and were just ahead of the main party. How had that happened? That was what one got when daydreaming, she supposed.

"You still affiliate with them?" He asked, surprised. "Most families are all too eager to be rid of their magical offspring. It sullies the blood."

She brought her horse up short, fixing him with a glare that would have sent him straight to the Void had she the ability. He'd only gone ahead a short distance before he realized that she was not following. Turning around in his saddle, he looked at her as impassive as ever. It was as if what he'd just uttered wasn't the greatest insult she'd ever heard toward her person. "Well? Do you not agree?" He asked.

Her grip on the reins tightened, her knuckles white as she fought to calm herself down. Breathe, she chided mentally. Nothing would be gained from an argument. Still…

"As it happens," she began, her voice infused with the same scathing quality as her glare, "I do not agree with you, Commander. My family has very close ties with the Chantry despite every generation or so a child with magical abilities is born. It is understood that the Maker creates us all with specific intent and purpose. To deny it would be not only blasphemous but intolerant. Did not Andraste teach that such disdain for your fellow man serves as a corruptive force?"

Whatever he'd been expecting, it was certainly not a lecture on the values upheld in Andrastianism. Nor did he expect her to feel so protective of her family and defend them with such vehemence. Most mages he knew did not even remember their families or a time before the Circle.

Interesting.

"You still did not entirely answer my question." He said in reply, completely disregarding her.

"I believe I am done answering your questions for the moment," she said tightly before finding her way back to the bulk of their group.

* * *

"Feeding your mare such things will make her ill. Did you not say your family were horse people? Surely you should know something so basic."

The sound of his voice was like listening to a thousand rusty door hinges swinging open at once. It grated on her nerves like nothing else. Indeed, she'd thought her escape from their caravan rather stealthy but it seemed, she thought with a grumble, that she had overlooked his own need to secure his mount. Her blood was still heated from their earlier conversation, but she'd had some time to soothe herself. Enough, she hoped, that she would not strike him. Not that he didn't deserve it for practically calling her filth.

Hand balled into a fist, she let her mare lick the remainder of the tart from her opposite palm as if she'd not heard him. "A small treat now and then boosts morale, I think. Besides, she deserves a thank you for all of the work she's done today. I imagine a young mare like herself isn't used to cross-country treks."

Evelyn Trevelyan definitely did not fit into his well-ordered view of the world, he decided. That fact bothered him incessantly. The more he learned from her reactions to his spiteful nettling in addition to the talk amongst their members, he was finding it more and more difficult to place her at the center of their investigation into the breach.

He scoffed quietly at her explanation, leading his mount into his own stall before securing the gate tightly behind him. "Horses are bred for work in Ferelden and they do fine. You don't need to give them a stomach ache to soothe your misplaced guilt."

Ah, there is was. The subtle tightening around her eyes that signaled the impending glare he'd grown so used to these past weeks of travel in her company. Despite the animosity it cause between them, he found he almost enjoyed it. She struggled to keep up appearances of a well-bred, genteel kind of lady, but she was just another hot-tempered mage of noble blood that'd wound up in the Circle instead of a throne. He briefly remembered their conversation about just that. He still thought it odd her family would continue to make an effort to see her. They must be close, if nothing else. Surprisingly that brought a swift ache to his chest as his mind wandered to the well-being of his own family.

Perhaps he was being too much of a boor. Varric had been commenting more often than usual on his taciturn disposition. The dwarf might have been right in part, but it was not as if Cullen had an easy time of things since the rebellion in Kirkwall. The mage uprising had shaken the foundations of not only his faith, but his loyalty. How could he live with himself, knowing the atrocities that he'd allowed to happen directly beneath his nose? As if that wasn't enough, the Blight would forever remain etched into his memory. While he consciously remembered very little in detail, he could describe the things he felt with such a great degree of accuracy that even now he could feel the demon's breath on his neck.

A small shudder raced down his spine.

 _Never,_ he swore to himself. Never again would he allow magic to grab hold of him again. He would sooner fall upon his own sword.

"Do you not have somewhere to be?" He heard her voice, attempting to ignore the calming effect it has on his frayed nerves.

This small war they had waged between them served to keep his head clear, at least for the moment. "Actually," he spoke, legging up over the stall door, "we both should go. After all, you did a fair share of the work in the Hinterlands." Damn, did that sound like a compliment?

He began to walk away toward the main gate, leaving her simmering behind him. "After you," she growled beneath her breath. Before following, she marched straight to his horse's stall, lifted the beasts' upper lip, and shoved an entire tart between his teeth. "Between us," she threatened without much malice as she scratched the black's nose gently.

* * *

Before she so much as stepped a toe over the threshold of the Chantry Leliana swooped down upon her like one of her many crows. "Evelyn, I'm glad you've arrived. I've been asked to transfer you to Val Royeaux to meet with the Chantry's judicial system."

Evelyn suddenly felt like the room was devoid of oxygen. "W-what?"

Cullen stopped in his tracks just in front of the door to the war room and turned an ear to listen.

"It seems," she began apologetically, "that despite the lack of evidence of your guilt, they are willing to use you as a scapegoat to quell the rumors of your being sent by Andraste. I don't believe they mean you any physical harm but you are a mage and the citizens of Orlais are clamoring for justice."

"No." A voice said simply from just ahead. Cullen stood there in front of the pair, very clearly making his stance apparent.

Evelyn shook slightly. She knew what happened to mages amid the normal populace of Thedas. She would not survive the journey, much less the trial in Val Royeaux if they truly imagined her to have murdered the Divine. To her relief, Cullen seemed as reluctant to hand her over as Leliana.

"What am I to do, then? Any resistance on my part would put the Inquisition in a very tight spot."

Leliana inclined her head toward her, acknowledging the truth of those words. "Be that as it may, I agree with the Commander. We will not be handing you over to the Chantry. No one else has the ability to close the Fade rifts as you do, which is what we are trying to do in the first place.

In the low light the candles cast a myriad of distorted shadows across the occupants of the room. The furnishings seemed to blend into the thick stone walls surrounding them. Yet, she found much to her surprise, Cullen's amber gaze was holding hers firmly. There was something unreadable there. Had she the wherewithal to sustain more of his obnoxious baiting, she might have asked him.

"The Inquisition will retain its hold on you until we have found sufficient evidence of your innocence or guilt. Seeing as we have neither, I imagine the Chantry has little more to go on than hearsay. That makes their opinion rather impotent in my mind." Cullen spoke evenly, a look passing between he and Leliana.

They agreed, Evelyn felt, and she was momentarily thankful for the Commander's conviction on her part, even if he was a breath away from sending her off to the headsman's axe should he find the barest sliver of proof that she'd caused the explosion at the Temple.

Small blessings, she told herself as she took a deep breath.

"Now that bit of news has been settled, I received one more missive from the capital," Leliana said, ushering everyone into the war room.

"Oh goody," Evelyn spoke with an uncharacteristic bit of snark. "Is this one at least more fun than carting me off in shackles?"

Josephine stifled a laugh. Leliana's lip curled in a smirk.

"It is good to see you more comfortable, Lady Trevelyan," Josephine spoke with warmth. "Depending on your views, you may find this either better or worse."

Evelyn felt her stomach hit the floor. Worse that certain death? Maker have mercy.

"A few weeks ago you encountered the Lord Seeker in the capital. He seems...to have taken an interest in you. He doesn't specifically state his intentions, only that he wishes to meet with you at the Templar stronghold of Therinfal." Cullen immediately stiffened as Josephine continued. "It seems the remainder of the Templar forces have been ordered to gather there. For what purpose," she said slowly, "he will not say."

"My spies also cannot find a suitable explanation for their withdrawal." Leliana offered.

"That's suspicious," both Evelyn and Cullen spoke at the same time, their eyes linking to each others in the surprising moment of agreement.

"I find it difficult to believe that the Order would simply ignore the sheer number of dangerous apostates left out in the world." He forged ahead, aware that this required a great deal of tact on his part. That was not something he was used to. "When the Circles fell all mages, those good and bad were freed. Surely the order hasn't lost sight of their purpose entirely."

Evelyn nodded. "That's correct. Imprisoned magi were freed, many under false pretenses or through ignorance. While many mages are good and decent people, as with any faction, there are the criminals." She looked to the map in front of her, lips pursed together in thought.

Cullen was surprised he agreed with most of her sentiments. "Here," he moved one of the bronze pieces to a location on the map near the Bracillean Forest. "That is where the fortress stands." He scratched the few days growth of stubble on his jaw. "It's so far out of the way. I see no political benefits. There are few natural resources out there as well, unless one is willing to fight the elves for it. Beyond all of that it remains a crumbling castle of an age past. This is...strange."

Evelyn ran her fingers along the many roads and trails absently as she meditated on what Cullen had said. "They mean to plan something. If I know anything about Templars and Seekers, it's that they do not sit idle for long."

"Perhaps they are withdrawing to regroup in another attempt to round up the rebel mages?" Josephine supplied warily.

Evelyn shook her head slightly, surprising the Knight Commander as it corroborated with his own feelings on the matter. "They hand to march straight through the Hinterlands. If they sought to end the uprising they would have made their stand there." She looked up from the map suddenly, turning to Leliana. "I will go. Send word."

"If you mean to traipse into a stronghold full of Templars as a lone mage you are either the bravest person I've ever met or the dumbest." Cullen growled, placing both hands down on the table. He leaned forward, their eyes meeting again.

Despite the haughty glare she bestowed on him, she grudgingly agreed that she should not go alone. "If it smoothes your ruffled feathers, Commander, I have an idea if you'd be willing to listen."

He stood in stony silence which she took to mean she had the opportunity to speak. Again she looked down at the map, tracing a route along which fell several other markers they'd yet to address. "We will leave as soon as we've replenished our supplies, moving along this road until we reach Redcliffe. While there we should drop off extra supplies for the refugees as a gesture of goodwill wince we'll once again be scouring about in the Arl's backyard. It would also afford us the opportunity to check into this Grey Warden Leliana had mentioned. From there we should head North to the coast and meet with the Bull's Chargers. While I'm a bit hesitant to place any faith in a mercenary group, their muscle might be beneficial if we were to meet any resistance at Therinfal. If all goes well, we might recruit a Warden and a Mercenary captain which would increase our...leverage against the Templars. Perhaps we could even persuade the Lord Seeker to join our cause. If all else fails, we do have Cassandra who says she knows the Lord Seeker personally." She finished tracing the path with her forefinger, looking up at the Commander with a mixture of authority and uncertainty.

Was she asking him if he agreed with her course of action? To his unanticipated satisfaction, he absolutely did. "Bolstering our numbers is an excellent idea. Bringing the mages in our party might incite a conflict." Unbidden, a small smirk graced his lips. "You say 'we' like I will be joining you."

Evelyn leaned forward, arms crossed beneath her bosom. "Well Commander, I certainly would be the dumbest person in your acquaintance if I refused to bring a former Knight Commander with me to a whole nest of Templars." Her smile was positively full of daggers.

Touche, he thought. Perhaps she fit somewhere in this mess after all.

Leliana and Josephine shared a knowing look. "If the two of you are done flirting, we can finalize this course of action and I can send word ahead to the Lord Seeker that he should expect you within a fortnight." The redhead enjoyed herself immensely as the pair almost simultaneously straightened, pretending nothing of the sort had even happened.

"I'll see to the supply cache," Cullen said suddenly, striding from the room.

* * *

_It's a trap._

_Trap._

_The Lord Seeker would not ask to see you after such a display in the capital. Do you deny it?_

_The Commander alone cannot protect you from the Seeker's reach. You must find more._

_Yes, yes! To close the breach you must have more! They close off the Fade. they calm the veil. You must go and find more!_

She awoke with a strangled gasp and sat straight up in her bed, fingers flying to the necklace at the base of her throat. Her breath left her body in small white puffs, and it was only then she realized just how cold her room had gotten despite the blazing fire in the hearth. She'd grown used to the multitude of voices in her dreams, but never before had they been this active, nor this insistent.

"Find more Templars?" She whispered to herself, bringing up her scarred palm, twisting it around in the light of the fire. Her eyes widened. "That's right! They're perfect!"

* * *

They set off the next morning with the chill of the Frostbacks blowing frigid wind and ice into their faces. The journey was long and arduous, and more than once Evelyn had seriously contemplated calling the expedition off. The voices would not leave her be. They urged her onward, offering advice and comfort when she struggled. She'd always been thankful for their unwavering guidance, but now so more than ever.

As they backtracked to the Hinterlands they recruited a Grey Warden named Blackwall who was, Blessedly, a warrior and an experienced one at that. Cullen seemed a bit more relaxed with him around, and the two made fast friends. His mood plummeted when they found themselves meandering along the Eastern shore of Lake Calenhad, however.

A single black spire loomed in the distance upon their approach. "Is that Ferelden's Circle Tower?" Evelyn asked, unable to mask her awe at the sight of it. Maker, it was the largest building she'd ever seen! How many mages could they fit it there?

"Yes," Cullen said tightly.

She frowned at his ire, but was glad that Blackwall stepped in to regale her on the tower's considerable history. As they neared the crossing point Blackwall had mentioned, her hand dropped to her necklace as she took in the massive smoking ruin before them.

"Maker...what happened here?"

"This was the start of it," Cassandra spoke softly as she rode up to join them. "Many will say that of the rebellion in Kirkwall, but that was simply pushing the issue of mage abuse over the precipice it already lingered on. This was a diverse and populated Circle, and it has seen many tragedies." She spoke with such finality that Evelyn dared not ask more. She would have to find more on the activities here at a later time. When they spurred their mounts onward, they noticed that Cullen had not stopped , his eyes fixed determinedly forward.

For all the questions that evening had arisen in her, she lay them all in the back of her mind as the party finally reached the Storm Coast. There they'd managed to recruit the Bull's Chargers along with their leader The Iron Bull. The Qunari was intimidating at first, but Evelyn soon found he was an emotionally gentle sort, despite having quite the...colorful personality. His men livened the party as they pressed Eastward toward Denerim and cut down a Southward road that would lead them straight to the redoubt.

"We should go over our plan before we hail them," Cullen spoke, pulling his horse around to ride alongside Cassandra and Evelyn. He looked back at their numbers, satisfied with their bulk and now feeling a bit more confident of their odds should something go amiss. Although he did not think the Templars would directly assault the Inquisition, the actions of those in the Hinterlands had him wondering just what the devil the Order had been up to.

"Cassandra, you take Blackwall and Bull and stay close to us. Evelyn," he gestured her over, holding out an arm, "get on."

She blinked hesitating a moment before swinging a leg over her saddle, gripping his arm and settling into his saddle behind him. "You don't trust them," Evelyn observed, one arm wrapping about his waist to balance herself.

"I won't until I know exactly why you were asked here. If their intentions are noble then we will chalk this up to my overly paranoid personality."

She snorted, covering a laugh with her free hand. "The truth is spoken at last."

He shot a quelling look over his shoulder before giving orders to the rest of their detachment to follow only so far as the drawbridge. Too many of them might be viewed as an offensive force.

Their group carefully picked their way toward the crumbling fortress. The closer they came, the more Evelyn was aware that something was very, very wrong. "Do you feel that?" She asked low, gripping his shoulder as they passed beneath the great archway and into the outer walls of the keep. The veil here was so thin she could almost feel it trembling in the air around them. Any Templar should be able to feel a shift as great as this.

"Yes. Someone has been tampering with the Veil here…"

Thankfully on the same page, the pair dismounted along with Cassandra and the others and were rather graciously accepted into the inner courtyard by an initiate who had belatedly recognized Cullen's name.

"Uh, Knight Commander! Apologies. I didn't realize it was you."

When the initiate had finally shown them to someone with authority, again they were greeted graciously.

"Lady Trevelyan," This one spoke respectfully, a short bow following. "Forgive the ill timing. But the Lord Seeker is unable to meet you at this time. He has asked, while you wait, if you would please raise these banners."

"Raise banners?" Bull snorted. "This is a goddamned waste of time."

Both Cullen and Cassandra seemed suspicious. "It seems," Cassandra began, "that the Lord Seeker wishes to determine your priorities."

"So, I just raise them, the highest being that of the most importance?" Evelyn asked the remaining Templar.

He nodded, and regardless of Bull's whining Evelyn set to her task. The banner for the people rose the highest, its crimson threads shining brightly in the late sun. The Templars followed, and lastly the Evelyn, people came before religion. If they didn't care for those who worshiped, then who would worship?

Satisfied with her decisions, she turned back to the Templar who simply nodded. "The Lord Seeker will see you now."

The uneasy feeling intensified as he led them across the soggy courtyard, eyes of nearly a hundred Templars watching her every move. It almost felt like the day of her Harrowing, though she was much less nervous back then. What was going on here?

The very moment they stepped into the darkened room Cullen had drawn his sword and stepped in front of Evelyn. "What is the meaning of this?" He growled, eying the lone occupant on the other side of the room. He was hard to make out. The single torch burning behind him casting barely enough light to silhouette his figure.

"The Lord Seeker wishes to speak to the Herald of Andraste. Alone." At the last word he grinned, showing a flash of white teeth. Evelyn thought the expression rather wolfish.

"There is no reason for him to make such a request. Whatever they wish to discuss should be discussed in front of an adviser of the Inquisition."

She felt it in the Veil before she heard it. "Cullen…"

There was a loud crash from above just before the stranger across the room made way for several other Templars to enter. Immediately Evelyn wobbled unsteadily on her feet, the beginnings of a Holy Smite sapping the very energy from the room.

"Cassandra, get her out of here! Blackwall, guard them!" Cullen ordered, bashing an oncoming Templar with his shield while Bull swept low, knocking the rest off of their feet. Cassandra and Blackwall dragged her from the room, but the moment they were out she stumbled over to a corner to retch. The entire room was spinning, the ground moving under her feet like the waves she'd seen at the coast.

"Drink," Cassandra ordered, holding a vial of Lyrium up to her lips. Gratefully she downed the elixir, regaining some semblance of balance.

"To your feet, lass," Blackwall ground out, cutting down a Templar that rushed down the hall after them.

She struggled to get up, Cassandra forcing another vial into her before she began to blink away the vertigo. They were moving down the hall, sounds of fighting rang in her ears from every direction.

"The Templars have gone mad! We need to find the Lord Seeker and demand an explanation for this trespass!"

"If we make it out of this Blighted keep alive I will personally run the bastard through!" Blackwall agreed.

As they pressed on Evelyn was able to move on her own. They rushed the stairwell, the weakened mage trying her best to shield her companions from Templar great swords. They'd just broke through into the second courtyard when Cullen and Bull joined them, the Commander with a bloodied lip but otherwise none the worse for wear.

"The way to the main hall is up those stairs," he pointed above them, "If we are to survive we must run through them. Evelyn will not Survive another smite." He looked at her to affirm his assessment and found it to be distressingly accurate. Her skin was pale, her stance unbalanced. He could feel her reaching for her powers, but frustratingly unable to grasp them. Although many mages would have let that be the end of their efforts, there was a determination in her eyes that endeared her to him in that moment.

As with many things, he'd been wrong about her.

"I will be fine. I just need more time for the Lyrium to soak in," She explained, following Cassandra to the base of the stairs.

There they spied a pair of Templars engaged in a skirmish with a captain Evelyn was surprised she recognized. "Ian!" She called.

The captain bashed one of the men with his shield and used the opportunity to cut down the other. While the first miscreant was stunned from the blow, he pushed the tip of his sword into the man's belly.

Evelyn ran forward before Cullen could stop her, but his concern was unneeded. The captain lifted his face guard and grinned with some measure of confusion down at her. "Senior Enchanter? What the devil are you doing here? This is the last place I'd expect you to be!"

"Long story," she breathed deeply, trying to not show weakness. "First, what do you know about the Lord Seeker?"

His grin faded quickly into a scowl. "He's brainwashed some of our Order." The captain's eyes lifted to take note of her companions, inclining his head to Cullen. "If you are heading in his direction, I can help you get there. I was going that way myself."

"It would be much appreciated," Cullen spoke softly, but not without malice. He was certainly more pissed off than Cassandra had ever seen him.

Nodding again, the captain turned and lead them upward into the bowels of the keep. They met with heavy resistance, but Cullen was pleased to note that they had allies within the Order who remained true to their vows to protect and serve the people of Thedas. His blood boiled at the notion that the Lord Seeker would simply lure them here to kill them. With the entire order at his disposal, what was he hoping to accomplish? Nothing good, surely, if such chaos as this was to come of it.

Regardless of their growing number of supporters Cullen did not wish to waste any more time than necessary in apprehending the Lord Seeker. They left the bulk of the Order behind them, skirting the small melees with ease. It was after rounding a corner to the main stairway that Evelyn clapped her hands to her ears.

"What the?"

 _I would know you,_ it whispered with perverse glee. Skirting the edge of her mind with relative ease. A demon...A demon had infiltrated the Order.

"This is bad…" she trembled.

Cullen placed a hand on her back. "Breathe. Take it easy." He'd forgotten that she was not a warrior like the rest of them, and subsequently had very limited physical stamina.

"Ah, there you are."

Cullen's head snapped up, shield poised in front of Evelyn while Cassandra and the rest of their party took up stance around her. The Lord Seeker walked slowly down the steps toward them with a nonchalance that set the Commander's teeth on edge.

This smug creature had perverted the Order- turned them against their true purpose.

The Lord Seeker completely ignored them all but for Evelyn, whom he fixed his hungry gaze upon. "Evelyn Trevelyan. Herald of Andraste. Senior Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle of Magi." He laughed darkly. "I would know you."


	3. Chapter 3

Awareness came upon her a bit like waking up from a dream. Heavy lidded, her eyes opened slowly to reveal a dark, dank place. Before she moved she made a quick assessment of herself. Toes? Still there. Fingers? She brought her hands up in front of her face and wiggled them, ignoring the dim green flash of the mark on her palm.

Well, she appeared to be in one piece, she mused as she pushed herself up from the gritty, wet floor. Another more detailed look about the room from this vantage point didn't really give her any more information about her location. What had happened?

A grumble of frustration set her to rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands in a vain attempt to massage away the slight ache there. Templars, she remembered, slowly repeating events in her head. Still, she could not remember how exactly she'd come to be here - wherever here was. She only knew that there had been fighting and that sick taint in the air that signaled the presence of a demon. Perhaps they'd smote her again and tossed her in the dungeon?

Even to her that seemed unlikely. Why capture her when they seemed set on killing her? Something was afoot at Therinfal and it was much bigger than either she or Cullen had anticipated. With a demon loose and the Order sitting about on their hands she highly doubted things were as cut and dry as she would have preferred them.

"Let's see…" She opened up her senses, ones she normally kept tightly leashed around others. Her strong connection to the Fade was disconcerting for many. As a child, she'd quickly learned how to mask and suppress her contact. Spooking people whenever she entered a room was not something she wanted to live with, despite the comfort she took in the strange place most only visited in their dreams.

Although she personally found the Fade to be a fascinating place, it was not without its perils. Demons lurked in dark corners, waiting with gleeful malice for an unwary trespasser to take a wrong turn, ask a wrong question. It would not be her.

Ah, yes. There it was. Mentally reaching through herself, she found the fabric of the Veil and pushed through it. She smiled to herself, pleased at the familiar connection to a place that was so intimately tied to her being. With this she would be able to ask for help from the spirits should she run into any trouble. She was not fool enough to believe she could quit this place with only her healing and barrier spells.

Feeling prepared now, she stepped off the wide stair on which she'd awoken and into bitingly cold ankle-deep water.

A shiver skittered up her spine as she grit her teeth against the sensation. "Stiff upper lip," she ground out, quoting her father. Pressing onward, she sloshed noisily through the empty stone room and reached the other side. Evelyn got the feeling she was missing something important

Pushing open the heavy door she entered another room such as the one she'd just left behind. Its similar- no - identical configuration immediately causing her to become guarded. Turning around to look back from where she came, she was displeased with the discovery that the door she'd only just walked through had gone - and was again on the far side of the room.

"I see." She breathed slowly. Now she was beginning to understand. Whatever manner of demon that had infiltrated the stronghold was targeting her. If her growing suspicions were proven true, then it would seem that was its intent all along.

Her mind was sent scrambling for a solution - a way to remove herself from this place. This wasn't the Fade, but it was clearly a space the demon had some measure of control over.

_Herald_

A whisper at the fringes of her mind, grasping onto her consciousness with sharp little claws.

Evelyn suppressed a snarl. It was trying to get in. She could feel its thick, slimy presence on the energy in the air pressing up against her as if it could pass right into her flesh.

Praying to the Maker for strength, she studiously began to recite the Chant of Light. Quick and determined steps had her forging her way once again across the room, the damp pulling at the hem of her layered robes. This time when she passed through the doorway, the room ahead was different, several columns lined the walls and in between lay heaps of burning corpses.

Lovely.

Really, demons could be such charming creatures.

She picked her way around the charred mounds of flesh and bone, covering her nose with her sleeve. Then, peering through the smoke, she made out two shapes. One of which she was growing quite accustomed to seeing around.

"Cullen!" She dashed forward, smoke blowing past her face until it revealed the Commander and Josephine. They just stood there, looking at her, and once again Evelyn felt the stirrings of unease in her gut.

These were illusions. She chided herself on her childish naivete. It was trying to trick her - to lure her into some manner of trap.

As if on cue, a wet-sounding cackle emanated from the space behind the frozen likenesses of her advisers and  _something_  wearing Leliana's skin sauntered forward into the open. Evelyn immediately shuttered her expression. She could not allow the demon to elicit a reaction from her.

"I picked these shapes from your mind," it spoke (rather conversationally, she thought). "Do they put you at ease?"

Grinning, it drug its forefinger along the line of Josephine's jaw, nails lengthening quickly to leave a trinity of long slashes along the Antivan's graceful throat. The image did not waver at the assault. Then turning its attention to the Commander, it watched Evelyn very closely. The scrutiny unnerved her. Something in its eyes was knowing, calculating. What has she let it see already? She wondered.

"What about this one?" Its words vibrated throughout the room as it teased the Commander's hair - Something Evelyn had once momentarily fantasized about when he was being particularly straight laced. Just to annoy him, of course. Maker...it really had picked her brain.

A knowing grin revealed sharp teeth, warping Leliana's face into a horrible monstrous snarl. Seeming to already know the answer to its question, it used those same needle-like teeth to rip into the Commander's throat, sending the visage tumbling to the stone floor in a growing pool of gore.

Evelyn tried to keep her hands from balling into fists. What point was it trying to make?

Demon and mage regarded one another for a time with steely focus, neither willing to concede. The demon, however, possessed little virtuous matter, and lost patience quickly. Images of the advisers disappeared as it gathered itself for another attempt to discern her motives.

Evelyn realized that it knew facts, faces, but it didn't know her. Well, that was...something. She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth with a demon skulking about.

"Won't you tell me?" It breathed in her ear. She had to stifle a shriek at its sudden appearance and proximity. It wore Cullen's skin this time. It spoke with his voice.

"Tell me what you think," it breathed, brushing aside her hair as lips ghosted against the back of her neck. "Tell me what you feel." His hands - its hands came around her and she twisted, shoving at the apparition to free herself from the deadly circle of its arms.

Her breath was unsteady, cheeks flushed, and the image of the Commander smiled cruelly at her then faded away.

Oh, this thing was playing dirty. Deciding the best course of action was to limit their time together, she hurried from the room before it could manifest again. In the next, and each room after, she saw images of herself doing things and saying things she would never dare. It disturbed her and set her on edge. She'd dealt with demons before, but none specifically tried to ferret out personal information. Most were only keen on overpowering her. This attempt to slip into and under her skin made her feel dirty. She needed out.

Not realizing she had broken into a run, she came to an abrupt halt at an intersection of halls. The one ahead was blocked by some manner of contraption that blasted water down onto the floor with such force that she knew attempting to pass would be a great miscalculation.

_Maker, help me…_

Her plea traveled across her connection to the Fade, and an answer came unexpectedly.

"You're hurting. I want to help you."

She spun, looking around the room behind her, half-expecting to see the demon once more. Nothing. She turned slowly back toward the obstacle, nearly jumping out of her robes at the sight of the young man before her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She waved a hand in front of her, attempting to catch her breath. She recognized this being as a spirit, not the demon who was tormenting her. Being familiar with such creatures, she felt almost at ease.

"It's fine. I'm just a bit jumpy."

"Envy wants to kill you. He wants to hurt you and take your skin. He wants to wear it and hurt others. I don't want that to happen."

"Who are you?" A loud voice bellowed from overhead. "Get out! She is mine! This is my place!"

"Come." The boy held out a hand and Evelyn grasped it as he pulled her upright.

"What is your name?" She asked curiously as she followed him to the barricade which he easily removed with a flick of his wrist.

"Cole." He replied, looking back to make sure she followed. "What's yours?"

She smiled. "Evelyn. Who named you Cole?"

"I had a friend once."

That was all he offered her as they passed out of the dark underground structure and into the light. Immediately she recognized this space. "Therinfal?"

"Yes and no. Envy has taken images from your mind. It wants to learn how you react- what makes you happy and what makes you sad."

"So…" she began, carefully attempting to connect the dots, "this is all in  _my_  head? It's not some kind of dream or rampant hallucination?"

"Yes"

"How exactly am I supposed to get out of my own head?"

"You don't. We push Envy out. Then it will hide. Then we can stop it." Cole spoke with easy conviction.

"How do we push it out?"

"We go to where you are. Come on. It's not far now."

It was daylight, but the keep was shrouded in a dense fog. It made the whole place a bit eerie for her taste. Still, she followed Cole up and up, stairs stretched out before them as she began to recognize her path as the same she had taken with Cullen before…

Maker!

It all came rushing back to her now.

Envy had possessed the Lord Seeker! Now he was trying to get her as well. What were the others doing? Did they even know?

She hurried her steps, eager to be away just as a shadow fell over the stairway.

A laugh that could only be described as maniacal echoed off of the keep's stone walls and reverberated in her chest. "I'll get there! I'll get him! Then I will put you down!" It cackled again, a dark shape bounding past her.

A heavy stone of dread began to ache in her stomach. Finding a strength she hardly knew she possessed, she ran past Cole, keen on getting to the last flight of stairs. Turning the corner she didn't stop, readying a spell as she careened forward into a faintly shimmering rift in the air. She hoped she wasn't too late. Maker, no, she prayed.

"No!"

Life surged back into motion and color as she spun around on her heel, barely deflecting the Lord Seekers sword with a barrier as it arced down toward Cullen's neck.

The rest of her party blinked, momentarily surprised before moving into action though the Lord Seeker moved well out of range. He wore a grin that split the human mask he was wearing from ear to ear. Sharp teeth dripping and gleaming like daggers in the light.

"I knew it! I  _knew_  it!" It cackled insanely, pieces of its human skin beginning to fall away.

Cassandra seemed too stunned to move, but Cullen surged forward, swinging upward to catch the demons belly, but again it escaped.

"I knew! I knew!" It shrieked, blowing through the doors to the main hall with a final lingering cackle.

Evelyn sank to her knees, palms spreading out on the stairs before her as she gasped for air.

"The Lord Seeker has been possessed by an Envy demon?" Cullen growled, the anger simmering plainly beneath his skin. He walked back down the steps toward her.

"Y-yes." She breathed, pushing up from the stone to stand. "I saw…" She shook her head. Never mind with the details for now. "It wants power. It was going to take the Lord Seeker's shape but now it wants me instead."

"You?" He snorted, incredulous. "Why?"

She held up her hand, the one scarred with the mark. "This, maybe. Fancy he thinks he could bring a few of his friends through."

If possible, Cullen's expression darkened further, and he was beginning to show that intensity in his gaze that had her literally shaking with fear the first time they'd met and it'd been entirely directed at her. If there was one thing she knew for absolutely certain, it was that getting on Cullen's bad side was very dangerous.

"Let's go," he said with such command it brooked no argument. The party fell in behind to follow

With any luck, Evelyn thought, they would find more friendlies inside the main hall willing to help them with the Envy demon.

* * *

Turns out that was a whole lot of wishful thinking on her part.

While the Envy demon had, for the moment, gone into hiding their party was left with a room not full of Templars eager to assist in banishing the foul thing, but Templars attempting to murder them all with some very frightening red spiky bits protruding out of their bodies.

Evelyn had staggered a moment, not sure if she was simply seeing things, or if there were actual  _stones_  growing out of that man's head.

Cullen seemed to have no such questions, as he was moving into action the moment he realized these creatures were a threat. The rest of their little group followed suit, warriors all with shields held high except for Bull who seemed to thrive on the danger of confronting an army of mutant Templars without any protection at all as if it were oxygen.

Evelyn reached for her connection to the Fade once more, finding comfort in the stability it gave her abilities as she conjured a barrier spell. Blue eyes scanned the room.

One wiry little beastie scurried forward on legs bent at entirely the wrong angle. Despite the deformity it was surprisingly nimble, lashing out with arms made of sharpened red  _something_  in Bull's direction. Flicking her wrist, Evelyn blocked the blow to Bull's unguarded side with ease, glad that this new substance wasn't able to bypass her defenses.

"Thanks boss!" Bull yelled, turning quickly onto the thing and crushing it bodily beneath his war hammer.

The crunch must have been satisfying despite the turn it gave Evelyn's stomach, for Bull giggled like a spoiled little child and rushed to meet a much larger and more dangerous looking adversary further inside the hall.

Her eyes tried to follow the unarmored Qunari, concerned about his lack of shield and armor as she was, and did not notice the Templar creature sneaking up on her flank. Her preoccupied daze was abruptly broken as she was forcibly jerked backward, Cullen's shield blocking a hit aimed at her as his sword swung sideways to catch the enemy at the hip.

Maker, she hadn't' even realized either of them were near.

Thoroughly disabled by the hacking, the easy task of dispatching the thing brought Cullen around to face her with a frown. "Your eyes need to keep moving around you during a fight."

She felt a blush creep up her neck and into her cheeks. "Right. Sorry." His criticism was valid, much as she might've hated to admit it, but he made no move to further scold her while easily cutting down another creature.

As Ian's party rejoined them the fighting came to a swift end, and Cullen strode over to her friend looking for all the world like he was going to hit him. Instead she was pleased to see he was taking a much more, if not a bit growly, diplomatic course of action.

"You have five seconds to tell me exactly why Red Lyrium is growing out of the floor  _and_ your brothers and sisters."

"I- I uh…"

Impatient, Cullen brought a hand up beneath the neck guard of the Templar's armor, lifting Ian straight off the floor. The ex Knight Commander had a hard set to his jaw and the promise of death glittered in his eyes.

Perhaps diplomatic wasn't the right word.

"One"

"I don't know anything! I only just arrived a few days ago!"

"Two!"

"I swear! I swear I don't know what they were doing!"

"Not good enough! Three!"

"Our superiors disappeared the moment we arrived! I promise, I don't know what they were about. None of us did!" His voice had risen considerably in his fear.

Cullen seemed to consider this as he lowered the young man to the floor onto shaking knees.

Evelyn had forgotten how young Ian was. His first assignment had been in her circle at only 16 years of age. While he hadn't sworn vows until some years later, he worked closely with the Knights there. That would make him…

He was perhaps eight years her junior.

Twenty? Twenty-One?

In an effort to ease some of the tension, Evelyn walked up and stood at Cullen's elbow, deciding to shift the conversation to what she felt was a more pressing matter than assigning blame.

"Cullen, could you please enlighten me as to what Red Lyrium is? Are we in danger by standing here?"

He glanced over his shoulder to her, surprised to see her so near after his outburst. Taking a breath, he looked to where the long spindly growth of the stuff jutted toward the ceiling. "Possibly. It is tainted Lyrium. It was, among many things, a reason for the bizarre and dangerous behavior of the former Knight Commander in Kirkwall."

"Meredith? This stuff made her crazy?"

"That's what I believe after the story Varric and Hawke told me." He quickly looked back to Ian, his amber eyes boring into the youth like a hand drill. The young man flinched. "You said that your superiors isolated themselves after you arrived?"

"Yes." He looked around. "There are no senior members of the Order left here. At least that's how it appears."

Cassandra quickly did her own cursory assessment. "He is telling the truth. Only Templars remain here. I find it hard to believe all officers submitted to  _this_." She toed the corpse of one such creature. Riddled with the tainted Lyrium as it was, the armor it wore designated it as a former Lieutenant.

Another Templar stepped forward identifying himself as Ser Barris, standing just to Ian's side. "I arrived here with Knight Captain Wystan two weeks ago. Almost the moment we arrived he and the Lieutenants were separated from the rest of us to go meet with the Lord Seeker. We caught glimpses of them, but it seemed…" He glanced to Ian a moment before returning his attention to Cullen and Cassandra. "It seemed like they were ignoring us. I don't know if you had knowledge of Wystan, but he was a good an honest man who cared about his subordinates. His behavior was completely out of character."

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, silently counting backward from 100 in his head. Good man or no, Wystan allowed himself to be influenced by whatever was going on here. He briefly thought back to the Envy demon. Did Templars assume they were impervious to the whims of demons, and that mages were the only beings susceptible? When had the Order become so lacking in its education?

"You are certain no one of higher rank remains within the keep?" Evelyn's voice was the only sound in the hall.

"I am not positive but-"

"Then we need to be absolutely certain. The demon that is causing this mess is Envy. It is an ancient and powerful being. Forgive my saying so, but if we encounter this demon with only a handful of low-ranking Templars we will probably all perish."

Cullen frowned. She was a Circle mage and worked closely with Templars, yes, but just how much did she know about the Order? Many mages simply didn't care - only seeing them as jailers to be despised.

To his surprise Ian and Barris conceded her point, the latter speaking with a confidence that denoted his high rank of birth. "An intelligent course of action. There may still be men resisting the demon's influence." He nodded to the side of the hall where a massive oak door stood. "Through there is a small courtyard that leads to the Western battlements. It's not a very large area to sweep. If you and your fellows search there, I will take my own group to the Eastern side. We meet back here and discuss Envy after we are sure we might not be receiving more help."

Evelyn nodded, looking to Cassandra. "Let's go." Then she turned to Cullen. "I'm going to leave Blackwall and Bull here to help defend the hall should any more of those...things show up. I'd prefer you were with me. I don't doubt a senior member of the Order will take one look at me and begin to assume I might have something to do with this."

Strange that Cullen felt like she was accusing him of something horrible while paying him a compliment. A noble indeed.

"Of course. Let's see if anyone capable of reason is left in this crumbling ruin."

They had settled on some kind of truce, Evelyn decided. No longer sniping at one another, attempting to kind fault in each other's actions, they seemed to be trying to work together. It was obvious he still found her lacking in value on the battlefield and would no doubt criticize her later, but she was oddly appreciative of his methods. She could see the tension straightening his shoulders and making his spine rigid. He was furious and no doubt would think it much easier if they were to simply paint this problem in black and white, deal with Envy, go home, and leave the Templars to their fate.

The fact that he was trying to be civil and listen to her probably made her more accepting of him than she should have been, given his low opinion of her.

Moving into the courtyard they encountered a few more mutated Templars, but the fight was nothing the Commander and the Seeker couldn't handle between them. Despite their difference in faction and rank, the two appeared to work together seamlessly, and for a moment Evelyn wondered just how close the two were.

Further examination of that thought was cut abruptly short as an arrow whizzed past her head and into the neck of the only remaining creature. It startled Cassandra, who immediately looked past Evelyn to ascertain any threat. If Cullen had been surprised by the sudden arrow, he gave no indication.

"Andraste's blood, Evie! What are you doing here?"

The sound of that voice almost caused her to sink to the ground in relief. Instead she spun around just in time to catch his jump from the roof and onto the ground as he greeted her with a smile. She wasted no time in launching herself into his arms, her own tightening around his neck like a vice in her fierce hug. "Peter!"

He hugged her in return, giving her body a slight squeeze before setting her on her feet. "Sister, I am serious. What are you doing in a keep chalk full of crazy Templars?"

"A long story, believe me."

"Sister?" Cassandra spoke, the tone of her voice demanding answers more than her words.

Peter turned toward the Seeker with a benign smile, revealing the the insignia of a sun fixed with an eye at the center emblazoned on his armor. "You would be correct." He gave a small mod. "I've heard about you Seeker Pentaghast. I thank you for rescuing my sister from the Conclave."

Cassandra didn't bother to correct him on his use of the word "rescue."

He rounded on Evelyn with a frown. "For which I will still not forgive you. If ever you feel the need to give me another heart attack, please wander into a wyvern nest or something. It'd be safer than with a bunch of spoiled politicking idiots thinking they know what's best for Thedas."

She looked perturbed, her eyes flashing angrily for a moment before she nodded. "I'll have to go looking for a proper wyvern nest if I am not to disappoint."

Again he flashed a smile.

"And," Cassandra continued, ignoring their conversation, "You are a Seeker."

"Oh, right." Peter waved a hand as if to brush away his title. "Seeker Peter Trevelyan. Third son of Adair Trevelyan and Louisa Arscott."

Cassandra's eyes seemed to widen a moment as she looked at Evelyn. "Now I understand why your name seemed so familiar to me. Your family has very close ties with the Chantry."

Evelyn smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. "You could say that."

"While our political ties are, I'm sure, very fascinating, I believe we have a much larger problem here." He looked around at the courtyard littered with Templars and Lyrium-riddled bodies. "While I arrived only hours ago, I observed several troubling occurrences. First, the Templars here are ingesting this red form of Lyrium. It causes them to go absolutely bat-shit crazy and turns them into some Blighted kind of creature as you've seen. Second, something is clearly wrong with the Lord Seeker. Though I'm certain there is no shortage of people who would line up to beat him over the head with a brick, I doubt head trauma is causing his paranoia and obsession with the Order. He was not partaking of the Lyrium either."

"He's possessed by an Envy demon," Evelyn offered as she watched Cullen pace the yard. Tainted Lyrium given to Templars who depended on the substance to survive. That was a special kind of twisted. She wondered if the officers knew what it would do to them.

Peter paused, looking at her with an expression of surprise. "Envy demon. Right. Shit."

Cullen grumbled. "Do you know of any Templar officers that might've resisted the effects of the Red Lyrium?"

Peter considered a moment. "None in the courtyard. I've been hiding out and observing for some time." He pointed toward the far end of the yard. "That doorway leads up to the battlements. Many officers have lodgings off the walks. It's worth a look if you need them for what I'm assuming."

"The more Templars we have who know what they're doing, then less likely the demon will get an opportunity to kill us," Cullen replied, already heading off in that direction. Cassandra and Evelyn followed while Peter opted to remain in the courtyard to look around. Perhaps there was information on where the Lord Seeker- or the demon inhabiting his body- had found this Lyrium and what his ultimate plans might be. It always paid to have more information than one might need. Beyond that, he also needed time to think on Evelyn's role in all of this. What in the Blighted Void was she doing running around with the Inquisition? Not only that, but with the ex Knight Commander of Kirkwall and the Right Hand of the Divine as well?

* * *

"Your brother is a Seeker?" Cullen began, unsure exactly how he felt about that. While it only solidified his view of Evelyn as an innocent regarding the Conclave, it also bothered him how much he  _didn't_ know about the mage.

"Yes. He's been one for about fifteen years now. He joined shortly after I passed my Harrowing," she offered, at the very least not being secretive about her past.

For this alone Cullen was inclined to relax a bit in her presence. That, and she'd saved his neck earlier. It appeared that while they would occasionally see themselves at odds, they worked well together. She still had quite a ways to go, however, if he was going to start allowing her into a fight. Now was an extenuating circumstance, later he would attempt to at least teach her how to be careful. Easier said than done from what he'd seen.

Sounds of a fight drifted down to them from the top of the stair, and Cullen was obliged to take them two at a time before he reached the exit. The trio happened upon a pair of Templars attempting to fight off a group of infected and immediately set to action.

The men looked exhausted, and so it was with a quick reach into the Fade that Evelyn bubbled a barrier around them. When she did so, however, two pairs of eyes snapped in her direction, but for the moment they did not appear hostile.

Returning to help Cullen and Cassandra the four felled the creatures easily much to the delight of the Knight Captain (as designated by his armor). Being alive apparently didn't hold much weight when he was faced with an apostate, however, which was a shame. As the happiness of being alive and in working order faded, the Captain turned his attention to her with a sneer.

"A mage! You're at the bottom of this!"

He started toward her. Evelyn immediately retracted the barrier she'd placed around the men, beginning to back away with her hands held palms up. It was a small gesture of supplication. She was no harm to him, she wanted to say, but felt words would mean little to this man.

She'd begun to get worried at his continued advance when Cullen stepped in front of her, his body completely blocking her view of the scene before her.

"The mage is with me."

There was a snort. "You hold her leash, then?"

Hesitation stilled the air atop the battlements, but it was with some effort Cullen replied in the affirmative. Evelyn took no offence. Better he assume the role of her "keeper" than to kill a man just for being prejudiced when they needed his help.

A third voice joined in. "Teague, if Commander Cullen says he has it under control then he his speaking the truth."

Evelyn felt only she could hear the quiet growl that resonated from the Commander's chest. "Samson." He didn't appear happy to see someone he knew.

"It has been a long time,  _my friend_."

Seeming to shrug off the negativity of the encounter, Cullen quickly explained their situation. Both Templars agreed to offer their assistance and it was with haste that they returned to the main hall with Peter in tow.

Evelyn didn't miss the murderous little looks Teague shot at her when he though she wasn't looking.

Barris had returned with a few more officers, all eager to see Envy done away with and the Order restored. Peter had misgivings on that account, confiding in Evelyn and Cassandra that he just assumed the Order nullified. Clearly the majority could not be trusted left to their own devices, as they now stood among a distinct minority.

Cassandra seemed on the fence over nullifying the Order, but she was aware that changes needed to be implemented and swiftly. The only person who might have a great deal to say about the matter was Cullen, and thankfully he had been distracted attempting to delegate duties and formulate a plan.

Envy, as was its nature when threatened, had hidden just beyond the hall in what Peter had described as an overlook. Unfortunately it had also managed to erect a magical barrier which was taking the Templars some time to dispel.

"I see what you meant about having people who know what they're doing," Peter remarked to Cullen after several minutes of failed smites. Evelyn stood on the far end of the room with Cassandra.

"This is an embarrassment," the Commander groused, considering having a go of it himself. Perhaps if he was still taking Lyrium he might have been able to, but his abilities seemed farther away now as they had ever been.

A few more minutes of failure and Peter sighed heavily. "Tell them to stop. I have an idea."

Cullen watched as the dark-haired man - someone who looked nothing like Evelyn but for his eyes - retrieved his sister and walked toward the barrier.

"Tell me you know how to get rid of this," he pleaded. He had better things to do than while around here and wait for the demon to get bored enough to try and kill them.

Reckless, their mother would say, charging off into danger without the smallest thought for self preservation. Her nagging voice echoed around in his head long enough to give him the beginnings of a headache.

Cullen had come with them to the fore where Evelyn stood and studied the magical wall with a frown. He watched her with some interest, able to feel the Veil stirring around her as she reached into the Fade.

The others must have felt it at the same moment, for there was a collective stirring among the ranks. Expressions ranged from impassive attention, wariness and finally abject disapproval. Curious that only one Templar wore that particular expression.

The Templar Samson identified as Teague prowled around them like a caged animal, his eyes pinned on Evelyn in a way that troubled the Commander greatly. Those were the eyes of obsession and unhealthy acrimony. He'd seen it often enough in Kirkwall where some Knights felt themselves justified in the abuse of innocent mages.

"It is clear she is stalling because she is in league with the demon!" Teague finally broke down, unable to hold his poison tongue.

Peter's eyes were immediately trained on the man from where he stood beside his sister. "Pardon?"

"The witch would doom us all with her magic. When that barrier comes down the demon will attack! That was their plan all along." The self satisfaction in the Templar's voice set Peter's teeth on edge.

It was with an air of almost predatory grace that the Seeker removed himself from his sister's side, approaching the disruptive man with a smile Cullen would have described as threatening at the very least.

"You seem like a reasonable man, Knight Captain." Peter spoke softly, placing himself between Teague and Evelyn.

"Aye. Good for nothing mages deserve to be put to the sword. Every last one."

Something dark moved beneath the surface of Peter's gaze. A sudden shift of a foot and flick of a wrist allowed the Seeker to shove the Captain up against the old stone wall, a wicked looking knife pressed to the delicate skin of Teague's throat.

A very thin line of blood began to run down the knife's edge.

"Then I will endeavor to put this plainly, as I'm sure someone of your rank would surely appreciate." He made that easily sound like an insult. "Hurl one more insult or back-handed remark at my sister and I will begin to remove your fingers. One for each syllable that leaves your putrid mouth. When you run out of fingers I will move to your toes. If you can still find enough spite within you keep going I will then begin to remove your teeth. When you run out of teeth, I'll cut out your tongue, and while you are laying on the floor choking to death on your own blood I will gladly pluck your eyes right out of your head." Peter smiled, but the gesture was frightening. "So, if I were you, I would think very, very hard about what comes out of my mouth from now on. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Teague, to his credit, appeared unshaken as he nodded his assent, but Cullen could see the fear in his eyes. Any such emotion the Commander feared would be short-lived, however. Men like Teague did not give up their rancor easily.

The mild assault of magic on his senses pulled his attention back to Evelyn who had managed to bring down the barrier, missing the entire exchange.

"Got it!"

And like flipping a switch, Peter's emotions leveled and he returned to her with all of the gentle assurances expected of an older brother. Cullen found he was beginning to like the man.

* * *

"Bring it down, Boss!" Bull called across the field to Evelyn, who was beginning to seriously consider asking the Qunari just how he managed to remain on this side of the Veil with all of his reckless, over-indulgent behavior.

Focusing on the small barrier Envy had erected, she easily overpowered the weak magic. The demon was either tiring or had little experience with defensive magic.

"Mage!" it screeched in its grating voice. One lanky arm shot out and swept Cassandra entirely off of her feet, giving Envy an out through Bull and Blackwall which it readily exploited.

One moment it was slithering its spindly, lumpy body between the warriors and the next it was directly in front of Evelyn, bawling her over with its proximity.

"I have you! I have you!" it squealed in delight, bringing up one impossibly strong arm down for what she assumed would be a debilitating blow. She couldn't help the gut reaction of closing her eyes as certain as she was that this would be the end , but a resounding  _thunk_  and a familiar grunt had them flying open to see the back end of a Templar shield.

Another screech from the demon and an arm had wrapped around her torso, pulling her off the ground and to the Commander's side. "Are you okay?" He asked, voice tight.

She nodded, flinching when he swung his blade up and away to turn another blow by the creature. He didn't use his shield, and from what she knew of Templars it was an integral part of their fighting style.

Curiosity had her examining his posture while Bull was busy harrying the demon, distracting it from both her and Cullen. His shield arm hung limp at his side, his shield gripped very loosely in his hand. Each time he tried to move the arm he winced and suppressed a growl of pain. Evelyn had a sneaking suspicion that he'd broken it in her defense. The angle he'd held the shield over her did not afford him the luxury of absorbing the impact of the blow with his body. Instead, his forearm took in the hit, and there was nothing behind it to save the bone from shattering.

Speculation on her part, but she'd seen enough broken bones to know the signs of a shattered limb.

She made a split-second decision. If he couldn't use his shield, she would attempt to use her own barrier in his defense. It was the least she could do for saving her life.

Cullen glanced one more time at her before rejoining the others who now had Envy on the defensive. His balance was a bit off from the cumbersome weight of his shield in his useless hand, but he was both surprised and pleased to see Evelyn had taken it upon herself to block incoming blows with her magic on his behalf. It was strange at first to have someone besides himself controlling his defense, but the pair soon settled into a rhythm of attack and defense that not only won the battle against the Envy Demon but began to build a foundation of trust between them.

He would pester her later over her apparent in-depth knowledge of Templar move sets.

The finishing blow was given to Bull. The demon's pleas for mercy went completely unheard as he was silenced so abruptly Evelyn nearly jumped. She recovered quickly, however, and hurried over to the group to check them over for any pressing injuries.

Cullen made no complaints while she assessed the others, but when she turned to him she saw he'd taxed his body just about as far as it could go. His skin was pale, broken arm shaking with the effort to hold his shield, and a cold sweat had broken out over his brow. He might've wanted to act like it wasn't bothering him, but he was going to pass out sooner rather than later if she didn't do something.

Evelyn ordered the Commander to sit as she approached, and he just barely sank down to one of the steps along the edge of the overlook before swiftly turning to empty his stomach. Now that the adrenaline of the battle was wearing off, the pain would surely double in severity.

Quietly she knelt beside him, nimble fingers swiftly divesting the Commander of his gauntlet which earned her a small hiss of discomfort. Her blue eyes looked up at his amber ones as she asked permission.

"This is going to hurt, but I need to check and see where it is broken."

He simply inclined his head, not trusting himself to speak. He could hear the creaking of his teeth his jaw was clenched so tight.

While she tried her hardest to be gentle, she could not prevent her searching fingers from discovering the location of the break. To his credit, the Commander only let out a thin snarl in response.

She apologized, looking up again from his forearm. "If I don't use magic now this will not heal properly. You may not regain use of this arm."

"Just do it," he ground out.

Nodding, Evelyn laced her fingers through his, ensuring his fingers were splayed appropriately before she began to mend the abused bone.

Shortly after he felt the stirring of the Veil, Cullen's relief came almost immediately. His once heated, aching arm submitted to the cool touch of her fingers as she focused. He was not prepared for the insufferable itch near half-way through. It felt like a thousand ants were scurrying around inside of his arm, and part of him wished for a moment the pain would return.

Just when he thought he might try to break it again, the itching stopped and Evelyn looked up at him with a tentative smile.

"It should be fine now. Try it out."

Cullen glanced down at their entwined fingers dispassionately before Evelyn noticed and snatched her hand back. "Sorry."

"No worries." He lifted his arm, testing the grip of his hand and rotation of his wrist. It was as before. There was no pain, no itching, it was as if his arm had never taken the hit. Cullen looked down to where Evelyn knelt beside him and offered a small smile. "Thank you."

That smile probably should not have caused her stomach to explode with a profusion of butterflies, Evelyn thought absently.

* * *

Peter had met them shortly after the Commander had returned to his feet, a giant slobbering beast close on his heels.

"I've found something that might interest the Inquisition," He spoke quickly, appearing to Evelyn as somewhat distressed.

He handed a small bit of folded parchment to Cassandra to examine before moving to check Over Evelyn who was, thanks to Cullen, completely unharmed. The Mabari beside him also bounded over to her, nearly knocking her over as he placed his forepaws on her shoulders. Evie returned the hug by throwing her arms around the beast's middle, laughing at the firm lick applied to the entire side of her head.

"Maker!" Cassandra breathed, thrusting the parchment into Cullen's hands where he also looked momentarily stunned.

Questioningly, Evelyn looked to Peter, who offered nothing by way of explanation but his unusually silent mien.

"A plot to kill Empress Celene hidden away in Therinfal Redoubt: temporary home of the Templar Order." Cullen sighed, feeling as if the weight of Thedas had come crashing down on their shoulders. "I was hoping this couldn't get any worse."

"It has, and I've found no other explanation for that plot other than to cause disorder in Orlais, which would then open the empire to the political machinations of several jilted nobles."

Cassandra frowned. "Do you think this plot has something to do with the Conclave?"

Peter nodded once, looking grim. "I believe we are looking for someone who is attempting to make a rather desperate grab for power. First getting rid of the Divine and now setting their sights on the Empress. Think about it. Taking down the Chantry - the single overreaching political entity in all of Thedas - plunged the military might of the Templars into chaos and freed the mages from their Circles. The one person trying to bring everyone back under control, The Divine, dies in a mysterious explosion along with countless other Chantry officials, Templars, and Mages seeking peace and compromise. Martial law was then impossible. Now whoever is masterminding this plot wants to remove Orlais-"

"The most powerful government in Thedas." Cullen finished. Pieces were beginning to fall into place.

Cassandra tried to make sense of it. "To what end? Doing all of this to simply sow discord seems-"

"Crazy? Mad? Yes. I think we are dealing with someone who has flown over the cuckoo's nest, so to speak." Peter replied.

"Meaning that aside from this move against the Orlesian court, we know nothing of their goals. Comforting," Cullen grumbled.

"Then it seems we send correspondence to Celene and warn her of our suspicions." Evelyn finally spoke, hand scratching the dog behind the ears, much to the beast's delight.

"That might be easier said than done," Cullen drawled carefully.

"Allow us to help." The group turned toward a gathering of Templars headed by Ian and Barris who next spoke.

"We know that the Order has done...shameful things, but if we can somehow make up for it - if we can stop the bid for Celene's head, then maybe the Maker will forgive us for our inaction."

Cullen narrowed his eyes at the lot. How dare they? None sought to investigate the extraordinary actions of their superiors before. Why on Thedas would the Inquisition trust them to do the right thing now?

"What is your plan, Barris?" Evelyn asked curiously. Much to Cullen's chagrin, she was entertaining their suggestion.

"It is obvious not many of us remain, but we are still Templars and we can still fight. If you fear a plot against the Chantry and Orlais then send us to Val Royeaux. There we can keep an eye on the remaining Chantry officials in the event the culprit is one of them."

Evelyn considered this a moment before nodding. Cullen was about to heatedly debate that decision, but she spoke before he could gather his argument.

"That's commendable, but I need the Templars to assist with the Breach." She held up a silencing finger when Ian began to protest. "We can make a compromise. The Order no longer has the hierarchy in place to be formally recognized and is therefore disbanded. However," she glanced quickly over to Cullen who was watching her with an unnervingly unreadable expression, " the Inquisition will offer those of you remaining a chance to atone for your mistakes by being absorbed into our ranks. As you know, our military adviser is a former Knight Commander. If he finds you able and willing to follow the Order's dictates, we will at that time have another discussion about reinstating the Order as it once was through promotion." Evelyn tread on dangerous ground with this, given her status as a mage. It seemed for the most part that many of the younger Templars were indeed listening to her. It was a start. "Only those we trust will be sent to Val Royeaux as Ser Barris suggested. Does this sound fair?"

Peter snorted. "Much more of a deal than I would have offered, sister."


	4. Chapter 4

A misting of rain preceded the fog bank that began to overtake them as they left Therinfal. Despite the poor weather Evelyn's spirits were high. Her offer had won over the majority of the Templars remaining loyal to the Order, much to her surprise. It had also come sealed with Cullen and Cassandra's approval. The pair were all too eager to take what military talent they could find, though Cullen was reserved about their potential within the Inquisition. It had still buoyed her spirits to know she had successfully mediated a rather tense situation.

Looking over her shoulder as she urged her horse onto the road, she again found herself wondering how the Order had fallen so far. The Templars that followed them were great in number, but she recalled gatherings from when she was just a girl at the Ostwick Circle where their numbers would obscure the surrounding countryside. She also recalled a time when Templars stood for justice, security and a nobility of spirit that drew their souls closer to the Maker. She sorely missed her romantic notions of the Order.

Perhaps their dwindling enrollment had something to do with the risk involved, or possibly the emotional trauma that came with such a relentless, thankless job. Whatever the reason, she was glad the Inquisition could offer these seemingly lost men and women refuge and a chance to atone for their mistakes. Well, she was glad  _she_  could offer it to them. Whether Leliana or Josephine would be as pleased as she remained to be seen.

Speaking of advisers her eyes drifted ahead of her to Cullen, who would surely rust inside of his armor in this rain if he did not put on a Blighted jacket.

The Commander had been surprisingly supportive of her goodwill toward his former brothers and sisters, though she suspected all of his griping was a front - a way to cope with his past in the Order. She did not know the whole of it, but from the way he chose to speak rarely of himself and his past suggested to her that his story was not a pleasant one.

"I think I will write to mother about all of this. I'm almost positive she would faint dead away at the notion of her little Evelyn serving as an ambassador of the Inquisition. You know how she is." Peter spoke, prodding her dignity from over five feet away with nothing but the sound of his voice.

"Josephine is the Inquisition's ambassador, brother. I am...the person who closes the Fade rifts."

Cullen's ears perked up at the dejected tone of her voice.

"That's right. I almost forgot. I've heard the stories. So, how do you do it? Is it a magic thing?"

Evelyn held up her scarred hand and held it out to Peter who brought his horse up beside hers to examine the appendage and the strange magic that lay upon it. The fine mist dusted her fair skin, just beginning to tan from exposure to sunlight.

"I can feel and see it affecting the Fade. It is magic, but it is not my magic." Biting her lip, she tried to find an adequate explanation. "I believe Aaron would describe it as using another soldier's sword instead of your own."

"So...alien?"

"Yes," she inclined her head to him, pleased that he understood, if only a little. "I am still trying to make sense of it."

"It has the ability to affect the Fade and close the rifts. What about the Breach?"

"That is why we are here." She glanced behind them to the legion of Templars following. "I need people skilled in the art of suppressing magic. The hope is to weaken the Breach while I step in with the mark to pull it closed."

"This is all speculation?"

She let out a heavy sigh. "Unfortunately yes. It has sealed every rift I've come into contact with this far. I don't have a reason to believe it will behave differently with the Breach since it is but a larger rift. Then again, I could be wrong and this could all be for nothing."

Evelyn betrayed herself then. She betrayed the insecurity she felt welling up to choke her at night. She allowed Peter to see her fear, sorrow, and apprehension regarding the entire matter of the Breach and the Inquisition. "I'm scared, brother. Everyone knows what they are doing. Everyone is sure of the course of action they must take, but I do not have that luxury. I barely survived the Conclave and was thrust into this role of "useful tool" under threats of imprisonment and death. Do you know the Chantry in Orlais wants me hanged simply because I am the lone survivor of the Conclave - because I am convenient?"

"I would never allow it. Neither would father. You know that." Peter replied with a conviction that gave her hope.

"Is it really that simple? Peter, if I do not find a way to close the Breach and fix this I will be just another problematic mage the Chantry officials will use as a scapegoat. After all, what is one spirit healer in the face of an entire empire calling for retribution?"

"Then you must close the Breach at any cost. To the Void with what's left of the Chantry."

That remark earned him a sharp glare from Cassandra. He bestowed upon her an apologetic smile before turning back to Evelyn.

"Sister, if anyone is intelligent enough to find a way to fix this, it is you. Are you not the woman known across the Free Marches as  _The Foremost Authority on the Fade_?"

"I know nothing of the Breach. I haven't had any time to study it. I am not even certain of its origin."

"Yet you are here with a legion of Templars at your back and some idea of how to proceed." He paused a beat. "Have you spoken to them?"

"Of course I have. It's the only reason I'm confident enough in the Templars' abilities to even try this."

"Then have some faith. Spirits are, after all, residents of the Fade. It stands to reason they would know how to better manipulate it than you or I."

Evelyn let out a tired sigh. "At this point all I can do is pray I am not wrong."

* * *

The heavy mist had finally given way to rain that soaked through their cloaks and armor. Standing water that had accumulated on their current path made travel dangerous. Blackwall's mount had already slipped in the mud, and so it was after that incident that Cullen gave the order to make camp.

Evelyn was thankful for the respite from the rain as she made a dash for the cover of the thick pine trees just off the road. Her cloak was threadbare and barely kept her from shivering. When they returned to Haven she would ask Josephine if it was possible to finance some new clothing. The thought turned her eye to her robes which were in a completely unpresentable state soaked with blood, burned, torn, and flecked with other unidentifiable substances she would rather not think about.

She jumped when a weighty mass of fur and wool fell over her eyes. Shoving the fabric back over her head, she looked up to find Cullen standing beside her.

"You'll catch your death in that ratty cloak." He sighed, as if it were a great burden to point the obvious out to her. "You'll use mine instead."

She didn't quite know how to respond to that, so she opted for diplomacy. "Uh, thank you." Her fingers picked at the hem of her own woolen cloak. "I didn't have one of my own. One of the servants allowed me to borrow this one for the trip."

He frowned. "You didn't have any proper clothing from your initial journey to the Conclave?"

Evelyn shook her head and pulled the dark, thick cloak more tightly around her, burying the cold tip of her nose within the fur-lined collar. It smelled like something she'd eaten before as a child - a rarity in the Free Marches as it was grown predominantly in Orlais.

"Oranges."

"What?"

Her cheeks colored, but she recovered her composure quickly. Maker, she hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. She was so used to talking to herself.

"Your cloak. It smells like oranges."

He shifted on his feet and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. She was surprised at the nervous gesture, brief as it was.

"It's an oil. It was a gift I received from a friend years ago. I found I actually liked it."

She nodded, taking another breath. If it wasn't bad enough that he was so easy on the eyes, it was even worse that he smelled so good. Between the faint scent of orange, leather, horse, and man, she was fairly certain there could be nothing that smelled so...so  _tempting_.

"I have heard that it helps with attention and vigilance," she replied, thinking that was quite appropriate for a Templar. Whoever had made that purchase must of known him quite well.

He said nothing, but remained standing beside her as they looked down over the bustling campsite from her spot beneath the massive pine.

The silence stretched on, and she found herself wanting to fill the void. "You know this is only the sixth time in my life that I've felt rain on my skin?" That definitely sounded more depressing than she'd intended.

Cullen regarded her for a moment, eyes unreadable. "Only the sixth?" He said finally, earning a snort of laughter from Evelyn.

"Yes. I'm certain. I have been keeping track. Strange how all the times before seemed much more pleasant than this." She gestured upward to the fat drops of moisture falling from the water-logged vegetation.

"How are you adjusting to life outside the Circle?"

She blinked at him, mind going blank a moment. His interest was unexpected.

"It's different. Completely different." She took another breath, closing her eyes. "I miss the Circle. After all, it was my home for nineteen years and I never had a problem with the Templars or the fact that I was forced to remain. I spent the time studying and honing my skills."

"What skills do you possess? I confess I've only witnessed your barrier spell and your healing abilities." He made himself comfortable by leaning back against the trunk of the tree.

Her blue eyes opened to fix him with a small smile. "Strange. I do not recall a Templar ever having asked me that. They normally don't care so long as I don't suddenly sprout horns and a tail."

Cullen rolled his shoulder in a shrug. "I am not a Templar. Not anymore, anyway."

On the contrary, she thought as she observed him subtly over the ruff of his own cloak, he was definitely the kind of man she would fix as a Templar. He was gruff, uncaring of the trappings of polite society, skilled, and gentle - though he was wont to show such sentiment. Those were qualities she'd read about in many a legend about the Order. Valiant Knights would right wrongs, rescue damsels, and protect those in need. Despite her initial dislike of him, on this journey she'd come to understand his nature enough to put that behind her.

"You are a Knight, regardless." Evelyn pressed, not missing the slight downturn at the corners of his mouth. She moved on. "I have a few talents. Are you familiar with Spirit Healers?"

"One, and he was a cleverly disguised abomination, blew up a Chantry, and incited a war."

Anders, she thought. She'd heard the stories from Kirkwall, though precious few spoke of the man standing beside her.

"Anyway, my study in that area has allowed me to become a master of the healing arts. I can dispel curses, tend wounds, and occasionally bring someone back from the brink of death." She paused a beat, feeling suddenly honest with him. "It was my father who taught me how to use my barrier as I do."

"He is a mage?"

Evelyn chuckled, blue eyes dancing with mirth. "No, no. He's just a man who is good with a sword and shield. Doesn't matter what it's made of - energy or steel - he can use it."

"What about your brothers?"

Her smile grew fond at the memory of them, and at the fact that the Commander had been paying enough attention to remember she had more than one sibling. Though she doubted much escaped his notice. "Aaron is a gentle soul, but has a hot temper like Father when something gets under his skin. Edward is kind, mild-mannered, and probably the most political of us all. You know Peter. He's annoying, roguish, sarcastic, practical, and has always been my biggest supporter."

"A fair assessment," Cullen offered, rewarding him with another one of her laughs.

"And then there is Michael. He's a sweet boy, but easily influenced. When he was younger he fell into the wrong crowd and was expelled from his apprenticeship. I've written him, but I worry he will end up like Evan."

"Who is Evan?"

"My twin. He didn't pass his Harrowing." She closed her eyes again in an effort to stay the tears. There was not a day that went by where she did not think of him. They were as close as any two people could be. There was a time where they could even finish one-another's sentences. His death had left a hole in her being that nothing could fill, even years of rigorous study.

"I see. For what it's worth, I am sorry. Do you still see him?" Cullen knew full well that a Tranquil was not the person who had once inhabited that body, but some attempted to find comfort that their friend or family member was still alive. Technically.

"The Templars could not complete the Rite quickly enough."

He was killed, she wouldn't say, but Cullen filled in the blanks. He didn't have a twin, but if any of his siblings had been in her brother's position, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. The Order had plans in place for such events to protect everyone including the mages in their care, but reasoning it out did not cover up the fact that death was a painful affair for those left behind.

Silence yawned between them again, but it was companionable. The sound of rain, the rustle of the pine boughs in the wind, and the scent of oranges were all that surrounded them at that moment.

* * *

The weather became colder as their party finally began traversing the well-trod road into the Frostbacks. Rain turned into freezing rain which turned into snow, and Cullen was happy that he'd more or less forced Evelyn to continue wearing his cloak. He could handle the chill, especially with the fever he was fighting, but she would surely freeze.

The sound of trotting hooves pulled him out of his musings. He sucked in a lungfull of cold air, relying on the biting pain to liven him up before turning to see Peter approaching him.

"Commander, I'm afraid I must leave your company before you head onto the North road. I have pressing business in the Approach."

"All the way on the other side of Orlais? Why so far?" Cullen wondered at what a Seeker could possibly be doing out on the absolute fringes of civilization. There was nothing but sand and Darkspawn in the Western Approach. Beyond that waste there was only the Blight tainted sulfur lakes and the Sea of Ash. Nothing alive ventured that far, not even the sturdy beasts that called the desert home.

Peter inclined his head. "I have reason to believe that several groups of mages have fled into the desert to escape pursuing Templars. I plan to go and see what I can do to sway the mages back into security. Not a Circle, but my family has made it clear their home is open to any mage seeking refuge."

"Refuge from Templars." He stated flatly. "That is generous of them, but risky."

The Seeker grinned. "Risky for the Templars who think they can try and stop them."

"The more I learn about the Trevelyans, the more I'm convinced that the lot of you should receive an offer of alliance from the Inquisition." Truthfully, from how the siblings had spoken of their family these past few weeks of travel, he could say he was intrigued by them. Apparently the Trevelyan family was full of Chantry supporters, though their opinions seemed unorthodox to him. He could not deny that he agreed with some of their sentiments - especially those about the roles Templars should play within the Circle.

Peter nodded toward his sister who rode just ahead of them with Cassandra. "Consider that a tentative agreement between us. You protect my sister, and I'll offer any support I can lend you with the Breach. If you succeed in destroying it, the offer will still stand."

Cullen agreed without hesitation. He would marvel at that easy acceptance later. "I will keep her safe. You have my word."

Peter's shoulders relaxed with his relief. He was clearly worried about his sister's well-being. He couldn't blame him. Family, he recalled with a bit of sadness, was important.

"Excellent. I'll stop by Haven on my return trip and write my family. Despite your ambassador's best efforts, my father will treat any correspondence from the Inquisition with suspicion until I can verify you aren't a bunch of zealots."

Cullen rolled his eyes to himself. He didn't think anyone had ever called him a zealot before. Oh, how the times changed. "Maker light your path," he spoke in farewell and watched as brother and sister embraced before Peter took his leave via the Westward path.

They turned North, a few miles closer to Haven.

* * *

The dog wouldn't leave him alone.

It bounded to and fro between the smithy and the training yard yapping excitedly to anyone who could listen. Then it would return to circle him before he was obliged to pat its head, after which it would shoot off and repeat the process with a seemingly endless supply of energy.

Currently the beast was enjoying burying the entirety of its body in the snowbank before popping out like an assassin to snap its teeth at some phantom menace.

The thing was touched in the head.

Even Cassandra agreed that the fearsome-looking war dog acted nothing like any Mabari she'd seen.

The only people who didn't seem to mind the obnoxious animal were Bull and Evelyn. The former seemed to have a good rapport with the Mabari, speaking to it like a person. The later cherished all manner of creatures, especially the dog entrusted to her by her brother. He would have to ask Peter just how he'd come into possession of the thing upon his return.

"Have you placed the order yet?" Cassandra asked, walking toward him just as the offensive beastie drove between them like a streak of lightning. He skid to a halt at the foot of one of the Templar recruits just long enough to get a scratch before running off again.

Trying to ignore the Mabari's antics, Cullen cleared his throat as his eyes met Cassandra's. "I did the moment we returned. I cannot believe she didn't mention it to us sooner."

"She is not demanding in the least. It does not surprise me that she would be hesitant to confide in us after how she was initially treated." She grimaced. "That is partially my own fault, I am sure. I was not gentle."

"We couldn't afford to be, but that aside, at least we know she won't risk losing fingers or toes anymore."

Again, the beast ricocheted between them, ran circles around them, and sprang back to the stables. The two warriors heaved a sigh.

* * *

Evelyn let out a pleasant groan as she sank further into the free-standing tub of scalding water. The coals were hot when she'd arrived, but she'd stoked them a bit more to achieve the wondrous heat that was now spearing into her flesh and warming her to her bones.

Weeks of grimy travel washed away from her, and she was eager to be rid of  _that smell_  which had accompanied her for the last few days. Scouring blood from beneath one of her fingernails, she shuddered to think of how she was going to go about scrubbing her robe. Perhaps she would ask Josephine about getting some scented oil as well. It would be a mercy.

That thought caused her eyes to drift toward the straight-backed chair on which Cullen's cloak lay. He'd gone days and many miles without a warm barrier from the elements all for her sake, and she felt decidedly guilty. She had watched him carefully once the weather had worsened, and she worried that his flushed complexion and tired bering spoke of an impending illness.

Still, he made no complaint, even asking after her own well being regularly.

That only served to deepen her sense of guilt.

With a sigh she poked her legs out of the water, hanging them over the side of the tub. She noted the color was coming back to her flesh, though the tips of her toes remained white as the snow that'd caused their condition.

Evelyn sunk further into the hot bath, closing her eyes in an effort to relax the ever present tension in her shoulders.

What felt like only moments passed before the atmosphere in the room changed. Feeling uneasy, she opened her eyes and looked around. Attempting to discern where spirits were in the physical world was fairly simple for her. With her strong connection to the Fade, she could see most as readily as she could see anything else. It was very rare to find one, however. Usually when she was running with her senses wide open Evelyn could see shadows of creatures that had passed on. People held the most residual energy after they'd died, and so she spotted them much more often. These shades had not yet found their way through the Veil, and so they lingered. Some had remained for Ages, still seeking to fulfill themselves in some way.

But this energy raised the hair on the nape of her neck, and it felt like neither spirit nor shade.

Examining this development with a frown, she was wholly unprepared for the whisper of a breeze against the shell of her ear.

_Let me in._

Evelyn's entire body froze. What on Thedas was that?

Hearing nothing more for the moment, but thoroughly disinterested in her bath, she stood and dried herself. Normally she was wont to neglect a conversation with a non-physical entity, but this was something she had never encountered before. It was better to be safe and remove herself than sorry.

Uncaring for the state of her filthy robe, she began to dress. It was half-way over her mass of wet hair before there was a knock at the door. Dancing a bit frantically, she managed to pull the garment down enough to make herself decent before an elf entered the room.

"Sorry to interrupt, mistress, but I was instructed to bring you these."

She could not see the servant's face it was so obscured by the mass of cloth she held, so Evelyn moved forward to divest the poor girl of half of her burden. She wasn't paying much attention to what she held, surprised when the elf made a pointed look to her arms and regarded her with a smile.

"You're to put those on, mistress."

Evelyn frowned, holding up one of the garments. It was a black fabric of heavy, durable weave and in a shape she had not seen before. The girl must have see the Herald's confusion, for she began to offer an explanation.

"Seeker Cassandra and the Commander noticed you did not have protective attire for traveling, so they commissioned me to find you something that would suit you." The elf made a show of scrutinizing the state of the robe she now wore, dismissing it with a flick of her fingers as she lay the rest of her pile on the chair with Cullen's cloak. "What you're holding there are the underclothes."

Evelyn blinked once at the girl and again at the dark cloth in her hand, a steady blush beginning to creep up her neck. "What?"

"Here, I'll show you how it goes."

The lesson was informative. Near half an hour later Evelyn stood in front of the looking glass in probably the warmest clothing she'd ever owned. The black attire, as it happened, were not small-clothes, but intended to protect her skin from the chaff of the armor. The armor itself was very light, but was much more practical than her robes as the doe skin leggings afforded her greater movement. Over her chest a jacket of the same leather rest and was fastened tightly closed beneath a heavy woolen shawl of Inquisition red that bunched up around her neck and tied snugly about her hips. Boots and gloves were also thrust into her hands, and she could hardly contain her smile.

Looking up at the elven girl, Evelyn grinned. "Thank you…"

"Nola," she replied, looking upon Evelyn with a touch of pride. "And I will say that I have good taste. That color makes your eyes look like right sapphires, it does."

"Thank you Nola. You wouldn't happen to know where Cullen and Cassandra are, would you? I desperately need to thank them."

"Usual spots, I wager. That pair are more predictable than harvest time."

She bid farewell to Nola, snatching the cloak off the back of the chair and rushing out of the room. Minutes later she was passing through the gates of Haven at a dead run.

Casandra was just turning from a conversation with the new Templar recruits when a blur passed Cullen and careened into the Seeker nearly knocking her over.

"Cassandra! Thank you so much! I've never worn anything so fine in my  _whole life_! It's wonderful! You're wonderful! I will never be able to repay your kindness."

The Commander stifled a laugh at the shocked expression on the Seeker's face as she caught Evelyn against her to keep her from falling to the ground. "Maker, calm down!" The woman tried to suppress the obvious joy she had herself over the well-received gifts, but failed as she treated Evelyn with a smile. "I'm glad you like them, but next time at least warn me before jumping into my arms."

Evelyn's grin was infectious as it grew wider, spreading to a couple of the surrounding Templars. "I'm sorry, I'm just  _so excited!_ "

The pair exchanged a few more words, quieter now. Cullen had just returned to observing a sparring match between two very green recruits when Evelyn was suddenly standing before him, smile still plain on her face.

"I should thank you as well." She held up the cloak he had loaned her. "For everything."

Saying no more, and expecting no response, she hurried off to show Krem her new armor.

* * *

The argument in the war room was short lived for once, thank the Maker. Cullen had firmly rejected wasting more time pursuing the mage's support for help with the Breach. They would try with the Templars first. If they failed then at that time they would seek out a magical solution. Josephine and Leliana only had minor qualms with the rush, but they agreed as did Evelyn at the need for efficiency.

After all, none of them knew exactly how long the Breach would remain stable.

Whatever they expected, it was not the effortless success they met when they finally reached the Temple of Sacred Ashes. While the use of her mark physically and spiritually drained Evelyn, she did not falter, and within minutes the Breach had been closed. Its eerie green light faded from the sky amid cheers from Templars and grateful villagers alike.

It seemed as if the Commander's prayers for an easy victory were heard, and for that he was thankful. Now the Inquisition could focus on closing the remaining Rifts and settling this damn dispute between the mages, Templars, and the Chantry. In a way, that task seemed more daunting than sealing a gateway that would explode with countless numbers of demons at any moment.

This was why he was a soldier and not a diplomat.

Evelyn, it seemed, was much more suited to the task, he mused as he watched her interact with the countless number of people who surrounded her. While he would have become annoyed shortly with their persistent praise and well-wishing, she seemed to take it all in stride. Varric was correct in that she had a gentle soul and a good heart.

The only thing he was not pleased with regarding Lady Trevelyan was the constant hovering of one man. Samson drew near her at every turn. He wished to speak of the Breach, her power, what talents she perfected during her time at the Circle, which Knight Commander she favored and what First Enchanter she was most inspired by. He had not stopped his prattling since they'd set out for Haven from Therinfal, and he was irked to discover that she had not rebuffed his enthusiastic bids for her attention.

It was in this respect that he found her kindness vexing.

So consumed was he with keeping an eye on Samson, he'd not heard Josephine approach him until the woman cleared her throat. Her Antivan accent carried over the mix of Fereldish and Orlesian timbres that surrounded them, pulling his attention away from the shady man.

"I wanted to get your opinion."

He inclined his head toward her, indicating that he was listening before his eyes cast about the crowd once more.

"Lady Trevelyan, as you know, is from a very influential family in the free Marches."

Where was this going, exactly? He didn't deal with political matters. That was  _her_  realm of expertise.

"That upbringing is evident in the way she speaks with people. I've read the field reports, Cullen. She is diplomatic, calm, and possesses a social tact that few Orlesian nobles could hope to obtain." She gestured out to where Evelyn stood politely listening to a group of women chirping on about seasonal colors for  _ribbons_  of all things. The inanity of the topic did not seem to disturb her smile. "I would have her remain with us - after the rifts are all closed."

His head snapped toward Josephine, a concerned furrow drawing his brows together. "She has no place here."

She gave an exasperated sigh, eyes flinging daggers at him. "You cannot pretend to be ignorant of the fact that she is an incredible asset to our cause. If the Inquisition is to remain and bring change to Thedas then we need all of the skilled agents we can possibly get our hands on."

"She is a mage."

"And? That's even better. She can draw sympathy to her plight, not that she'd need to use such a tactic. She has made every single alliance for the Inquisition since she fell into our laps with little or no risk to us or our values. We  _need_ her, Commander.  _I_  need her."

Cullen grumbled internally to himself, recognizing the advantage, but not wanting Evelyn to remain with them longer than necessary. It was not because he was actually beginning to enjoy her company, but that the longer she stayed the greater the risk posed against her. He did not think Peter would be too pleased about that even if Cullen would be willing to instate himself as her guardian. Then again, his position would not allow him the time to do so. Maker, he needed to stop thinking.

Seeking to take up a stance of neutrality, confused by his own circular logic, he offered Josephine a partial answer. "We will speak to her brother about it when he returns, but don't get your hopes up."

She smiled, but rolled her eyes at him. He was far too grouchy for his own good, she thought as she turned on her heel to head back into the Chantry.

* * *

The stables were on fire.

Sparks wound up into the black void of the night sky as frantic shouts and fearful screams cut through the roaring of the flames. The unknown army that marched steadily and ominously toward them down the mountainside let forth another volley of flaming arrows, spooking the horses Evelyn held in her grip. She spoke encouraging words, sending a pulse of calming energy to the animals to still their balking. Master Dennet hurried up beside her with another group of horses.

"Take them into the town! There's no way we can put this out now!"

She nodded, grimacing as one of the main supports collapsed near the rear of the forge. Hurrying away from the scene, horses trotting beside her, she mounted the steps to pass through the heavy gate.

A hand shot out to relieve her of the black warhorse she lead, pleased to see Cullen was well in the midst of this mess.

"Dennet is coming with the rest we could save," She panted, face smudged with soot.

He nodded sharply. "Get to the Chantry."

She wanted to help, desired to remain should her skills be needed, but the look on his face was ordering her to leave.

Uncertain and worried, her eyes searched his and their gazes held. "Maker watch over you," she spoke quietly before leaving him.

Arriving at the Chantry doors she met up with Varric, Bull, and their newest addition Dorian. He'd arrived shortly before they'd been beset by the enemy, and seemed to know a great deal about who exactly was behind it - at least in comparison to the Inquisition's knowledge.

The ground shook as a pair of projectiles slammed into the town's walls, more arrows following.

"So you're telling me this "Elder One" is attacking us because he wants...what?" Varric ground out as he braced himself against the stone wall.

"I'm not entirely sure of the "why"," the mage spoke confidently despite his lack of knowledge and the chaos around them. "I do know that he's persuaded a vast amount of mages from Redcliffe to join his army. I also know that he has his sights set on the Orlesians after he's finished here. I suspect it's because the Inquisition has been meddling."

"The Templars," Evelyn spoke up, remembering the order Peter had found. Dorian turned toward her with a questioning quirk of his brow. "We found a plan to assassinate Empress Celene at Therinfal-"

She was interrupted at the sound of the forward trebuchets launching and hitting one of the snow covered peaks. The subsequent avalanche  _should_  have buried the advancing army. Instead a great shift in the Veil signaled the presence of mages shortly before several barriers were cast. A portion didn't have time to react, but it was the seasoned, prepared individuals that Evelyn was most concerned about.

The small group looked on as villagers ran past them into the Chantry seeking refuge. Samson ran up to them in a panic. "People are trapped, Evelyn! We need to free them before the army reaches us."

"Of course. Take me to them." She agreed with concern, following closely on his heels. Varric attempted to follow, but Evelyn assured him she would not need any help with her abilities. Thinking she was safe with the Templar, he acquiesced.

The dwarf would regret staying behind as the events of that horrific night unfolded.

* * *

Cullen sprinted through the Chantry doors with his remaining men, any stragglers he could find, and several horses.

The roar of the winged beast was muffled as the doors closed behind their party. He couldn't believe his eyes. A Blighted Archdemon? This was far worse than they could have possibly imagined.

"Curly!"

He looked down, spying Varric making his way toward him through the crush of people, animals, and possessions.

"Varric, is everyone here?"

"Everyone we could grab on our way in." He looked around, spying a head of white-blonde hair and sighed in relief. Blondie and the Templar had made it back from their rescue mission just fine.

Cullen nodded, mind flipping quickly through scenarios in his head. There wasn't much to do but sit and wait, though he was certain he would not just go without a fight. A silent death meant one accepted their fate. He would never accept this as his end.

"What's the plan, Curly? We going to sit around and sing campfire songs or go out weapons blazing?"

"There is a way…" a raspy voice sounded nearby, drawing both men's attention.

* * *

While Evelyn and Samson searched the damaged homes for survivors, the duo had managed to free several trapped individuals who hurried toward the safety of the Chantry's walls. The very last building to check had been the pub. Rushing in, Samson close behind her, they found the proprietor immobile laying prone on a pile of rubble. She was pinned, and Evelyn quickly energized the area to gently remove the offending debris. Samson stood nearby, and when she was finished he moved in to lift the woman into his arms.

At that moment one of the precariously situated stones, likely from the outer wall, shifted beneath Samson's weight. The slight movement caused the entire structure to groan shortly before the ceiling collapsed around her.

Even Evelyn was surprised that she had managed to move quickly enough to escape the cave in, not suspecting that Samson's iron-clad boot  _might_  have kicked a support while she was concentrating on the woman, or that the shifting stones  _might_  have been a result of his intentional desire to collapse the remaining half of the outer wall.

"Samson?" Evelyn called out, coughing on the dust that clouded around her. "Samson, are you okay?"

She shifted away, having landed hard on her backside in her effort to flee. The sudden and enduring pain that shot from her foot to her head told her she'd twisted her ankle, if not broken it, but she had no time and less energy to dedicate to healing herself.

Striding toward her were a group of rebel mages, all wearing the same uniform of black robes with red lining. They looked an imposing bunch, and Evelyn was glad she had readied her barrier spell.

One of the mages cast a spear of ice at her, but she easily blocked it. Another tried to slay her with fire, but did not succeed. Frustrated, the pair began to work in tandem, and it took much of her energy to keep up with their furious spell casting. All she could do was defend herself against the onslaught as others joined in.

Briefly, she considered the folly of only pursuing defensive magic, but then an idea struck her. Reaching deep into her connection to the Fade, Evelyn brought forth a dispel powerful enough to jar the contingent of advancing mages. It gave her enough time to once again energize the rubble of the pub, bringing the debris across the space between them effectively blocking their path.

It would only work a short while, but she could try to get away. She hoped Samson and the woman had made it to safety - prayed that they were alright.

She got to her feet with a small cry of pain. A grimace marred her pretty features as she slowly made her way down the only path available. It was with an empty sort of resignation that she realized this was a dead end.

The space spread out into a circle wide enough to accommodate a single loaded trebuchet, and it was with continuously deteriorating morale that she heard and then saw a great winged beast fly overhead.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "An Archdemon?"

"Found you!"

She whipped her head around to see that the mages had broken through her measly barrier. Apparently they were not as stupid or inept as she had hoped. Darn.

One of the group grinned, raising his staff above his head. "Time to end you, Herald!" He cried, shortly before a ball of fire blew the lot of them backward.

She looked up only to see that one bad thing was only replaced by another as the Archdemon landed in front of where the mages had once stood. It eyed her with intelligence, advancing slowly much like a tomcat might stalk a hapless mouse.

Andraste preserve me, Evelyn prayed silently knowing there was no way out.

She could hear the small gurgle in the back of its throat before it set forth another ball of flame. She was surprised when it blew right past her, but was not pleased when its impact sent her sprawling to the ground.

Not willing to just lie here and let it have her, she rolled to her knees, not trusting her aggravated ankle to support her weight. She looked up to where the Archdemon had stood, finding only flames and a dark specter of a creature making its way forward.

The heat from the fire made her vision blur and shift, but as it came closer she could finally see that it was a Darkspawn.

Had this been a Blight all along? Maker…

"Pretender!" The deep, gravelly voice bellowed, echoing in the small space. One long, bony finger stretched out toward her. "You toy with forces beyond your ken no more!" The snarl in his voice shook the ground, and she could feel the power of it reverberating within her chest.

She knew magic when she felt it, and this magic was ancient, powerful, and frightening.

"You will glorify me, revere, me, and exalt me before your end as penance for what you have stolen!"

_What?_

He held up something in the palm of his hand that glowed with an angry red light not unlike a blood mage's aura. The mere sight sent a shiver running down her spine.

The response of the mark on her palm to the pulse of red light startled her. The Veil drew thin around them. There was a tugging sensation on her hand before she felt like it was suddenly going to be ripped right off of her arm. The energy yanked it toward the red light, pulling her off her knees and causing her to fall again onto her backside.

"Give it to me!" He bellowed, the magic in his words making her heart quiver once more. "You will not undo my work. I am the Elder One. I am Corypheus, and you will submit to my will!"

He strode toward her quickly, lifting her up by her offensive marked hand. With an unimpressed scoff he tossed her effortlessly aside, her back colliding with the corner of the trebuchet.

Black stars danced before her eyes as she struggled to keep herself awake.

"You have spoiled my coming. I would restore order to this Blighted world, but your existence has proven to be a slight I will suffer no more." He crooked a finger, and once again the Archdemon appeared at the periphery of her vision. "Your end will be the catalyst for the coming of a New Age. Be grateful."

The Archdemon lifted its whip-like tail, flicking it once before snapping it in Evelyn's direction.

A blur of brown fur struck her before the demon's blow, sending her tumbling down between the slats of the trebuchet platform and several feet onto a hard, cold stone floor.

Having missed Evelyn entirely, the Archdemon's tail thwacked against the release for the siege weapons' ammunition, and Corypheus watched with indignant fury as his pursuit of this offender was cut short.

Demon and Darkspawn fled before the avalanche could bury them both.

* * *

Evelyn did not know how long she had been out, but the firm wet lick of a rough tongue roused her further from the borderlands of sleep. She wished it hadn't. Hurting in places she wasn't sure had even existed before tonight, she struggled to her shaky feet.

It seemed that while she had been down her ankle had healed somewhat. At least it was not broken as she had originally feared.

Small blessings.

A bark directed her toward her brother's Mabari, who stood expectantly in front of a narrow passage. Seeing no other way out, she followed.

When the pair had finally emerged from the dank tunnel, all they found was a field of snow white and untouched. Evelyn felt a wave of trepidation wash over her.

"Where are we?"

There were no markers to identify their position. All that broke the seemingly never ending white field of snow were the mountains jutting out sharply like black teeth. It occurred to her that she was lost.

Bewildered, she could only think to move forward, the Mabari walking resolutely beside her.

"Thank you," She spoke softly a while later. They had made it to a treeline, though if that was a good or bad thing she had no idea. Path finding was not in her skill set. As if the Chantry would ever deign to teach such a thing to a mage.

The Mabari cocked its ear at her thanks as if it acknowledged the sentiment. She'd heard the dogs were smart, but she had limited experience with them. This one had found her brother one night as he camped, and Peter has decided to let the beast tag along with him on his travels. To her knowledge, he'd never named him.

Well, that wouldn't do.

In an effort to keep her mind off the cold, the people of Haven, and the throbbing pain suffusing throughout her entire body, she ventured to pick an appropriate moniker for the hero that had saved her.

Hours later Evelyn had wrapped her arms around her body as she began to shiver. The scenery was as featureless as it has always been, and she was beginning to think that she would never make it back to Haven.

They were lost. Hopelessly and irrefutably lost.

Her pace slowed with the increasing distance, and eventually her body's poor condition caught up with her as she collapsed into the snow.

* * *

Cullen was visibly shaking with rage.

Just moments ago he had discovered that Samson and Evelyn had left the safety of the Chantry during the attack to search for survivors. Samson had returned. Evelyn had not.

"Where did you last see her?" He grit his teeth as he bit out the question.

"The pub where we saved that woman. The ceiling collapsed and I couldn't get to her," Samson offered honestly, looking as guilty as he should have been.

The Commander shoved aside the dread that had begun to spear its icy fingers into his gut.

"You didn't try to find her? Didn't try to see if she was still alive?"

"I couldn't! there was too much debris, Cullen."

"Coward!" he growled, advancing on the greasy little man when a sharp bark cut through their dialogue.

Both men turned to see the Mabari beside them, confused as to why the beast was yapping at them.

Another bark came when neither responded. Again, the stupid humans didn't respond. In an effort to force them into following the dog rushed Cullen, circling his legs before running off a short distance, turning around and barking again.

Slowly, it seemed to dawn on the Commander that the beast was up to something.

"Barris, keep order while I'm gone."

Waiting only for a response from the young Templar, Cullen ignored all questions and protests as he legged up over his horse and started after the Mabari.

It must have been at least a mile before the dog slowed to a stop, trotting over to a snow drift.

Dismounting, Cullen again pushed aside the fear that he had neglected his promise to Peter to keep his sister safe.

His feet hurried him over to the drift where he dropped to his knees and began digging through the snow with the dog. The deeper they dug the more frantic he became. Finally, as if by some miracle granted by Andraste herself, he uncovered Evelyn. She was unconscious, her body battered, but when he pressed an ear to her lips he was relieved to find that she was still breathing.

Maker be praised.

Gathering the woman into his arms after wrapping her in his cloak, he mounted his horse and set off with her safely ensconced in his lap. The Mabari followed swiftly behind The Commander's galloping horse.


	5. Chapter 5

 

_You should try to wake up. They're worried about you._

Evelyn groaned, attempting to swat weakly at the presence she sensed around her. Her limbs felt leaden.

_I know you are hurting, but so are they. Wake up. Show them you're alright and their guilt will go away._

Her lips felt as if they refused to move. "Cole, you should know better than to interrupt a lady's beauty sleep."

Evelyn sounded perfectly coherent to herself. Cullen only heard faint mumble as he looked down at her from atop his horse.

Varric and Blackwall must have heard it too. The dwarf turned around from his seat at the front of the wagon to see if their adorable little Herald of Andraste had finally awoken. He was disappointed when her eyes remained firmly shut.

"Damn. Well, at least she's making noise."

"At least she's  _alive_ ," Blackwall corrected easily, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder.

Behind them marched the bulk of the Inquisition's forces, the steady pounding of feet on top of the cushioning snow broke the silence of the deserted mountain pass.

The dwarf snorted. "Yeah, but she won't be for long if she doesn't wake up to eat or drink. I've seen people waste away while they sleep after getting knocked on the head."

"She will wake up," Cullen replied, not willing to think on the alternative Varric posed.

"Wish I shared your rare fit of optimism, Curly," he grumbled before turning forward and back to the path ahead.

It was not optimism, Cullen thought as he brought his attention back to observing her once more. It was certainty. He had grown accustomed to her energy in their extended travels together which afforded him a way to identify her active and inactive states.

She was mentally active, and he was positive that her body would eventually follow suit.

Cullen felt the familiar brand of energy brush up against his senses and knew at once that she had slid back into a deep slumber. Her connection to the Fade now was strong and distorted the Veil around her.

Satisfied that she would, for the moment, remain asleep he recalled the events that transpired after he'd discovered her half frozen in the snow.

_The Inquisition could not stay on the windward side of the mountain forever. Once he rode back into the camp with her he had been met by a thoroughly flustered Cassandra. The rest of their company moved quickly to set up a space to assess the injured Herald of Andraste._

_Solas had been the one to examine her and had returned to the three advisers with the news that she would make a full recovery._

" _She had a fractured rib, a minor concussion, a twisted ankle, and several lacerations. While she will be slow for a while, she should be well before the month is out." His voice was sure and a bit curious, as if he had discovered something he found particularly interesting about her. "I've healed the bone and skin. She just needs to work through the rest."_

" _Thank goodness for that," Leliana echoed Cullen and Josephine's sentiments._

Evelyn mumbled again, and his eyes roamed over the cart they had cleared for use in transporting her. It was lined with furs to make it more comfortable, and she had been nearly buried with blankets in an effort to warm her. All they could do was wait until her body decided to wake up, Solas had said.

He felt the swell of her magic recede as she drew close to waking once more. Well, it appeared as if Evelyn was going to be joining them again shortly.

Sticking his fingers between his lips he whistled, drawing the attention of Cassandra and Leliana who turned their mounts around to meet him.

"She is waking?" Cassandra asked, her Nevarran accent thickening in her distress. Of all of them, the Seeker seemed to be taking Evelyn's near death the hardest.

Cullen came in a close second, but only because he had refused to believe she would die.

"She is stirring and speaking, though I'm not certain as to whom," he replied steadily.

"Oh, she's talking to me."

The three of them jumped, Cassandra's horse rearing back at the sudden and inexplicable appearance of a young man crouching on the sideboard nearest Evelyn's head.

Cullen drew his sword and Leliana her bow, preparing to strike should the need arise. Varric ducked.

"Identify yourself," Leliana commanded in a steely voice.

"My name is Cole," he replied easily, as if two very dangerous people did not have their weapons trained solely on him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Helping. Evelyn needs someone to wake her up."

"How do you know her?" Cullen finally spoke, eyes fixed on the boy. He could sense magic. Of course he had. The boy had literally appeared out of thin air. If he was not a mage then he was something else, and in his experience that "something else" was usually a demon.

"We met at Therinfal when she was trying to help the Templars. Envy had invaded her mind, and I showed her how to push it out."

Solas and Dorian appeared then, seeming to have felt the same atypical energy as Cullen.

"It seems a spirit has decided to join us," Solas commented, studying Cole carefully. "It must have been drawn to Evelyn."

"Do spirits always wear a human's skin?" Cullen growled quietly, not looking away from the boy. His unease was palatable.

"Not that I've seen, but don't fear. This is no demon."

"Correct! A demon is much uglier than a spirit. This one seems to enjoy dressing up, is all." The Tevinter mage shrugged, sensing no immediate danger. "Though I can't say much for its taste in hats."

Leliana seemed to relax only slightly. "So you are a spirit?"

"I don't know," the boy replied, looking up at the Commander from beneath the brim of his hat. "I will not hurt her."

Why it was looking at him and not Leliana was a mystery to Cullen. Perhaps it had been watching them. While that thought of being unwittingly exposed to a being of the Fade made his skin crawl, the notion that "Cole" had yet to do anything contentious eased his mind. Barely.

"See that you don't," was all the Commander could manage civilly between gritted teeth.  _Or I will gut you with the Maker's blessing._

They continued travelling for a few more miles. Evelyn stirred occasionally, always drawing Cullen's eye as he watched for the precise moment of her waking. He needed to see for himself that she was alive and well.

Leliana had taken point in front of the wagon while he and Cassandra remained beside it. Solas and Dorian had taken up conversation somewhere behind them. Cole had moved to the sideboards nearest Cullen, sitting on a small lip of wood with one leg folded beneath him and the other dangling over the edge of the wagon while it swung aimlessly back and forth over the snow. The creature watched Evelyn with an impassive expression, but her more consistent mumbling led Cullen to believe the thing was actually speaking to her.

His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to strike it down. Leliana had seemed to want to keep it around to learn more from it. It could be useful, she had said. Cullen was of the opinion that adding a potential demon into their ranks would  _not_ help their situation. He would not allow Evelyn to become possessed.

"Body heavy, she tries to get up. She has to find them because she knows the cold is slowly killing her. She cannot see anymore. She cannot hear. She only knows she wants to be with them, safe, warm. Oranges."

Cullen's eyes speared the creature. "What?"

"The smell of oranges, it reminds her of the sun. Warm summers spent playing in the tall grass behind the manor as a little girl. The taste is both sweet and sour, but she loves it. Always a gift for her when father returns from Orlais."

"This is starting to get really creepy really fast, kid." Varric spoke up from the front seat. "What are you doing anyway?"

Yes, Cullen thought, what was it doing? Thankfully the story-weaving dwarf had not made the same connection he had about oranges, of all things.

"Talking."

"Yeah, I got that, but what about?"

"Evelyn. Always studying. No time for anything else. She hasn't felt the sun on her skin in months. She misses the smell of the sea. Being here without him is torture. Hand flies to her neck, gripping the pendant there. No. Stomp it down. Misery helps no one."

Anyone could see the cogs were turning in the dwarf's head at a dizzying pace as he pieced together Cole's meaning.

"You're talking about her time in the Circle?"

The spirit simply inclined his head to the dwarf, leg still swinging over the edge of the wagon.

* * *

It was that night after the sun had begun to slip below the horizon that she rose from the pile of furs and blankets, wondering how on Thedas she hadn't been crushed by the sheer weight of them.

Her eyes first alight on the sky, looking as if it had been set on fire from the shock of pinks, reds, and oranges that merged together like a tapestry over her head. Maker, she could wake up to this every day.

"Hands are shaking, head throbbing with pain, but he pushes it aside. He focuses on her and his promise."

She turned around at the familiar voice. "Hello, Cole. I didn't think I would see you again. Why do you look like a human?"

"We've been wondering the same thing," a voice said from behind her. She found Solas and Cassandra smiling at her to which she could only smile back.

She  _had_  made it back to them. She wasn't dead!

"Thank the Maker you are awake. We didn't think…"

"Seeker Pentaghast has been very worried for you," Solas interrupted. "We all have."

Evelyn made her way to the edge of the make-shift bed, meaning to hop off onto the ground. Thankfully, a strong and solid hand reached up to hold hers, helping her off the wagon and steadying her when her legs wobbled from disuse. Cullen, she knew instantly. Looking up at him she offered a small smile. "Thank you."

"I am glad you are safe," was his quiet reply.

She studied him a moment, seeing the fatigue in his eyes and the relief in his private smile. A few days worth of stubble shadowed his jaw, but the look was rather charming in a rugged sort of way. "I am as well." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Have you slept?"

He shook his head, offering no further explanation as Solas came over to retrieve her for a final examination. She felt perfectly fine, though a little sore. Cassandra followed them into her own tent, keen on getting the facts from the elf about Evelyn's condition.

The inside of the tent was as uniform and spartan as the Seeker herself. As Solas checked her head and pressed on her rib cage she frowned at the woman who always looks so determined and sure of herself.

"Cassandra, I feel fine."

"You are not fine," she grit out, the corners of her eyes tightening.

Knowing she was definitely not going to win this argument, nor certain she had the mental fortitude to do so anyway, Evelyn dropped the subject in favor of another.

"Where are we?" She hadn't recognized any of her surroundings.

"I don't think even we know where we are," Cassandra huffed, looking pointedly at Solas.

The elf very nearly rolled his eyes at the Seeker's obvious lack of confidence in his knowledge. "I know the path is old, but I promise it leads to a place where the Inquisition can start over."

Evelyn cocked her head. "What is this place? Are we headed further into Ferelden?"

"No. At the moment we are headed due North along the spine of the Frostbacks. I'm confident that in the next day or so we will reach a place called Skyhold. At least, that's what the last human's to hold it named the fortress."

"It is deserted?"

"To my knowledge it's been empty since the beginning of the Age."

Evelyn recalled Solas explaining to her how he entered the Fade to learn about the past. Despite her own strong connection to the place, she had never heard of such an ability, let alone tried it. It sounded fascinating to her, and when she expressed an interest in learning how to see as he did, the elf merely chuckled and told her that he didn't think he could explain how he did it if he tried.

"We have no where else to go," Cassandra spoke firmly. "This seemed like our best option. Even the Commander agreed that we should find a new base of operations, though I suspect he was only half-listening to the discussion."

"He does seem distracted," Evelyn agreed. "Is he feeling alright?"

"He will be fine. He's just a stubborn ass."

At the Seeker's broody outburst, Evelyn blushed. "I see."

"It's nothing to concern yourself over." Cassandra's words held a note of finality, though Evelyn felt as if there was something she wasn't telling her.

* * *

" _This_ is the mighty fortress?" Josephine cast a critical eye about the hall that lay in complete shambles. How were they to present an organized front with this mess to greet potential visitors? They were more likely to trip over chunks of mortar and break their own necks.

"It...does need some work," Leliana agreed.

Cullen stood with his hands on his hips looking in the opposite direction. The fortifications were their first order of business should they decide to adopt this place. For their age, all defensive structures seemed in decent order. He brought up a gloved hand to scratch the rather thick, short beard that'd grown in the absence of his shaving kit.

"This is manageable. First we work on cleaning up, and then we form a list of the most critical repairs."

The two women nodded their agreement, stilling when Evelyn waltzed into the hall with a grin plastered on her face, Varric and Cassandra hovering like mother hens right behind her.

"This place is  _huge_!" She called out as she turned in a circle to observe the sheer extent of her surroundings.

"Slow down there, Sunshine. You might want to pay attention to where you put your feet." Varric advised the enthusiastic mage with a laugh.

"Sunshine now, is it? I thought you had your heart set on Happy or Blondie." Evelyn grinned down at her friend a moment before moving about the massive hall. This place was incredible. If the Inquisition set up here, they would have much more room to expand.

She had gone over her encounter with Corypheus with Leliana first before repeating herself to nearly every curious person who'd the courage to ask her of it. Cullen had listened with great interest, even going so far as to pull out a quill and parchment to begin jotting details down.

Methodical and intelligent, not much had escaped his quick hand and quicker mind.

"I've tried a bunch of names out, but none quite fit until Sunshine. You can blame the kid for that one."

"Cole? What'd he have to do with it?"

"Let me put it this way: whenever he does the freaky read-your-mind stream of consciousness thing on you he always mentions the sun. Given your weirdly positive attitude, I figured Sunshine would do nicely. And whaddya know? It stuck."

"I suppose I should be thankful," she laughed. "I've been called worse things."

"Worse? You?"

"Don't forget mages are reviled in many parts of Thedas."

"Anyone who thinks poorly of you needs a reality check. You're the nicest mage I know, and that includes Hawke."

"Varric, stop pandering to Evelyn. You could just  _ask_  her to read your manuscript." Cassandra sighed impatiently.

"Oh, you think that's what this is about? Seeker, you have such little faith in me."

"You're right. I do."

Evelyn sighed, rolling her eyes until they made contact with Cullen's.

Leaving the pair of nattering, willful enemies behind, she walked toward him and the other advisers.

"Do you think the Inquisition will stay here?"

"I believe we will. It's a defensible fortress and it only needs minor repairs, all things considered." Cullen replied.

Josephine huffed impatiently. "If we are to complete this filthy task, then let us begin. I at least need a functioning office before the day is out."

Cullen rolled a shoulder as the ambassador walked away. "She is just upset because Skyhold didn't come scrubbed down and ready for occupation." A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Nobles have frighteningly warped priorities."

Evelyn smiled despite the unintentional slight against her personal connection to the upper class. She didn't think he meant it like that.

"It is very dirty, but the clean up will keep everyone busy for a while. Working together like this will help build relationships." She shifted to cross her arms in front of her, eyeing the masterwork stained glass windows beyond them. "At least…"

"No, you're right. It's a guild team building exercise - and one that will benefit all of us once this dust is cleared away."

He was surprised when she smiled sheepishly up at him, even more so when he returned the gesture.

They had seemed to at last have found it within themselves to treat one another as they would any other person. Evelyn had found that there was more to Cullen then his taciturn disposition, and Cullen had grudgingly accepted that Evelyn was not the reason for the incident at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She had allowed her initial bias of him to affect her developing knowledge of his character. He had shamefully allowed his deep-seated hatred of magic to warp his opinion of her as a person. They'd both been mistaken in their prejudices.

Neither had realized that they had been studying one another the entire time until Varric cleared his throat.

"Remember how we were going to clean up that little Chantry with the kid, Sunshine?"

Her eyes reluctantly shifted to the dwarf. "Where is Cole, anyway?"

"Here"

Everyone in the room jumped save for Evelyn, who only smiled at the spirit. "Would you help me with something? I want to try and repair the statue of Andraste."

Cole nodded, and while Cullen wanted to object to Evelyn spending any time with the spirit at all, he felt a bit better knowing that Cassandra would be with them.

"You were going to clean the Chantry before you knew for certain we would be staying here?" Cullen asked.

She merely nodded and said, "I couldn't just leave her there broken and with an inch of dust settled on her."

That was something they had in common, he mused as he watched her walk off with her little group. They were both rather devout Andrastians.

"By the way, Curly," Varric interrupted his thoughts once more. "I've called in a friend of ours. She's familiar with Corypheus and I think she can help sort this all out."

"I see. When can we expect our esteemed guest?"

The dwarf laughed at him. "Still nursing that wounded ego, eh? I'd expect her within a fortnight."

Maker, Cullen thought as Varric hurried to catch up with Evelyn, why did it have to be  _her_?

* * *

Later that evening they had cleaned up well enough to eat rations off of a table they had managed to move all the way up from the larder. Two flights of stairs and a few hundred pounds of timber had them all sweating except for Bull who could only assist with one side due to his impressive height.

The return to a semblance of normalcy was welcome to Cullen as he sat munching on a piece of bread with a cup of wine in his opposite hand. He observed the occupants of the table with a sort of detached curiosity, sitting back in his chair with one ankle perched atop his knee. All were speaking animatedly to one another, sharing stories and accounts from their time in the mountains. Many were relieved they finally had a proper roof over their heads. Proper in this case meaning something other than limitless sky.

All except Evelyn.

She sat with a cup between her long scholar's fingers, elbows resting on the arms of her chair listening to one of Varric's tales, and yet she seemed like her mind was elsewhere. Perhaps she was thinking about her ordeal with the Elder One - Corypheus - he reminded himself. While she had been forthcoming with the details, he'd suspected it had affected her more deeply than she let on.

While their companions had finished their meals and began to become engrossed in other activities around the new keep, Cullen stood and approached her.

"Evelyn, would you join me? There's something I'd like to show you."

She started, not having expected him to move from his position at the end of the table where he had been brooding all evening. "Oh? Alright."

She stood and followed him when he turned away from her. They headed along a side passage and again down a flight of narrow stone steps until the closed space cleared up into a massive open floor.

On one end of the room a pair of double doors the size of which surpassed those leading to the main hall stood broken inward, a tide of dirt and rock lying between and beneath them. On the other end stood an entire wall of stained glass in the same style as upstairs. It created a very pretty light show against the stone walls as the fading rays of the sun filtered through the window.

"Wow…" She breathed, stepping fully into the room and toward the window. "Do you think this was a ballroom?"

"Most likely," Cullen replied, now on the opposite end of the space. "How are you feeling?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, but his back was turned to her as a hand traced a pattern of colored light on the stone.

"I feel fine. Much better with all of the ah...attention Casandra has been raining down on me. I honestly think she believes I'm going to drop dead at any moment."

He turned around then, meeting her eyes as she slowly walked the perimeter of the room. "She is only worried for your safety. She is also unused to dealing with someone who is so vulnerable. I confess that I share her concerns."

"I am weak and therefore need protection?" She queried, a somewhat stern note carrying in her voice across the empty space between them.

He inclined his head to her, thinking on how to phrase this in such a way that she would not be angry with him.

"Not exactly. When we were at Therinfal I noticed that you had very limited experience working in an actual fight. You wanted to focus your attention on one subject, but needed to be aware of several things at once. That's not weakness, but a matter of experience."

She slowed to a stop, watching him carefully from the corner of her eye. "What are you getting at, Commander?"

He strode toward her, taking both of her hands in his. "I would teach you if you let me. I feel it's important for you to at least be able to defend yourself if I, Cassandra, or any of the others aren't able to reach you in time." He dropped her hands then, and turned slightly away, but still held her gaze. "Besides, you'd definitely be more useful in that capacity, and wouldn't draw anyone away from a fight to protect you."

She snorted, happening to agree with him. However, she wasn't about to tell him that after what he'd just said. "Interesting proposition. How do you intend to teach me?"

Words were not useful for this sort of thing. "Put up your barrier." He drew his sword. "I will attack and you will defend. Start with that. Sound fair?"

She surprised him with a quick smile and at once he felt the air around them sizzle with the strength of her magic.

His heart began to beat faster, fingers adjusting on the grip of his sword. Despite her obvious power, he did not experience the usual anger and fear at feeling it as he had in years past with other mages. He felt excitement.

"It's fair. So all I do is try and block you?"

"Don't try. Do it. Trying gets you killed."

"You're so positive," she laughed before blocking a quick strike of his. Overhand, but it lacked conviction.

He said no more, striking from one side then another as she blocked each one with a well timed barrier. She did not hold the spell, likely to conserve energy. She was an intelligent mage, he'd give her that. Many of her fellows would panic and try to sustain the spell leading to a swift drainage of mana. In fact, many an inexperienced Templar relied on that mistake to capture their unwilling charges.

Satisfied that she was familiar with the basics, he faked her out, spinning once to her left and bringing the sword up, not down, to halt at her waist. The blade rest harmlessly against her armor as she had failed to anticipate the indirect attack.

"I see what you mean," she breathed. "May we try again?"

He removed the sword as he took a step back from her, nodding his assent. "Say the word when you tire."

"Or when you lop one of my arms off by accident."

He made a face. "You've been hanging around Bull too much."

* * *

The next morning was a cool one, but Evelyn found her way to the small Chantry to kneel in front of the repaired statue of Andraste for her morning prayers. She'd been remiss in her devotions since leaving the Circle. She intended to fix that beginning today.

Adjusting her weight on top of her legs, she bowed her head and closed her eyes, allowing her magic to thrum around her as she relaxed into the comfort of the Chant. The words of the benediction flowed as easily from her lips as water flowing in a stream, and as every time she prayed to the Maker, her fingers curled around the pendant at her throat.

That night after dinner she met Cullen in the neglected ballroom. She did the following night, and the next, and the one after that. The mage and ex Templar had settled into a routine that evolved from simply giving Evelyn the knowledge she needed to survive a battle to finer and more complicated move sets she may encounter.

"What is that one for?" She asked, curious about the quick sword strike which had been followed up with a low strike to her knees by his foot, and then an overhead swing.

"That's usually for a mage defending themselves with a staff. The idea is to confuse them with the initial hits and then immobilize them. The overhead is optional depending on whether you want to kill your target or not."

She absorbed that, finding it unsettling but also enlightening. Cullen was teaching her these moves to improve her chances against Templars who had defected to Corypheus' side. She would be in the most danger from them, after all.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you know all of this so completely. How long were you in the Order?"

He thought a moment, resting his naked blade against his armored shoulder. "Since I was thirteen. Twenty years now, I suppose. It feels longer."

She let out an impressed whistle. "That's young. I was sent to the Circle at nine. Father tried to keep me out for as long as he could."

"I wanted into the Order, desperately. I wanted to stand for something." He laughed, perhaps a tad bitterly. "I wanted to be more than a farmer." Cullen regarded her with a veiled expression. "The more you say of your father, the more I respect him. Even with all of my prejudice against mages, it was always the hardest taking the children away."

"That is the most regrettable aspect of the Circle, I admit. I think you and he would get along, my father, I mean. You share many of the same views."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent.

She was vaguely aware that they were staring at one another again. Clearing her throat, she brought forth a suggestion she'd been ruminating on since they had begun these little sessions.

"Would you…"

He cocked his head at her pause, silently bidding her to continue.

"Would you be willing to allow me to try something on you? Magic. Since the encounter with Corypheus, I've realized that I need to be able to do more than simply defend myself. I was utterly useless against him and-"

"What did you have in mind?" Came his easy reply. His posture was a bit stiffer, no doubt at her implication of performing offensive magic. It seemed he was still wary of her in that respect.

"The barrier I use is a branch of force magic. I've been toying with the idea of maybe adapting it into an attack." She fidgeted when she described her idea, as if the notion made her severely uncomfortable.

"Why does using an offensive spell unsettle you so much? Wasn't that a basic skill you were taught at the Circle?" He seemed more curious than anything.

"No. I opted out. My father told me for years that practicing offensive magic would turn me into a target for the Templars. To stay beneath their notice I only practiced healing and defensive spells."

"So, in other words, you are capable but you just don't know how and are afraid to go against your father's advice."

She nodded. "That is...accurate."

He thought on it a moment or two, tapping his blade against his shoulder before giving a quick nod.

"Alright"

He trusted her judgement. If she did end up somehow hurting him, he knew her well enough to understand that it would be an accident. After all, it was the intent behind the weapon that mattered and not the weapon itself.

Maker, it'd taken him years to really understand that.

She couldn't hide the shock in her expression. "Really? You'll help?"

"Of course, but first, for my sake, maybe we should try it on something that's not living." He held up his shield loosely and slipped it from his forearm as he walked a fair distance away to place it on the stone floor. "Target practice for now and tomorrow night you can try to hit me if we determine it's safe?"

She nodded readily. "Yes, absolutely."

He retreated a few paces behind her. Again he felt the stirring of her magic, absently thinking that he perhaps enjoyed the sensation too much for someone who despised the stuff. Though it wasn't just any magic. It was hers.

She flicked her hands nervously, breathing out slowly before summoning her barrier. Minutes passed and Cullen could practically feel her distress. He understood. It took guts to go against everything you'd ever believed in - against everything you were taught.

All at once the feeling of magic intensified, sending his hair standing on end before she finally did it. With one motion of her graceful arm she lashed out, sending her barrier toward the shield. It skittered across the floor with some force, startling her enough that she immediately pulled herself back.

Cullen walked up behind her with his arms crossed over his chest. "You're pretty powerful even if you don't have a clue what you're doing."

She shot him peeved look before her eyes settled back on the shield. "At least...at least I know I can do it."

"It'll be useful to you, I'm sure."

"But I'm not sure I want to use it."

"Why not?"

"It just seems so violent."

"But you can see the benefit in a little violence, right?"

Her doubtful silence said that she didn't.

"Look, you have good deal of control over your abilities, yes? It stands to reason that you would be able to control the intensity of the spell." Cullen walked over to pick up his shield, holding it in front of him. "Start small and hit me."

" _What?"_

"You heard me." Yes, and he heard himself, wondering just where his mind had run off to. It certainly wasn't in his head. "Go on. Try it."

She hesitated, but when it appeared that he was not going to budge from his position she began to gather herself again, forming the barrier. It was a small one. Once more she focused, pushing out at the barrier until it shot forward.

The impact hardly affected Cullen, who was used to far heavier blows from much less forgiving opponents.

"Try again," he said, his confidence in her building.

She did so. This time it was a bit stronger, pushing him back perhaps a foot.

"Again," he called, taking up stance behind his shield.

This next attack was stronger, and when she pushed it away she knew instantly that it was too strong. True to her fears, the blast knocked Cullen off his feet.

"Maker! I'm sorry!"

She rushed over to him, but he was waving her off of him with a smirk. "I'm fine. Now  _that_  is an attack that would give a Templar pause." He sat up on his elbows, halting abruptly when he found his face inches from hers. Her worried expression was...adorable. Andraste preserve him, he was growing complacent around her.

"You're sure you aren't hurt?"

"I promise," he spoke, finding himself unable to look away from her. "But thank you for worrying."

Later that night in the privacy of his office Cullen paced as was his habit when he was distressed. What was that? Where in the Fade had that desire to kiss her come from?

He groaned, scrubbing at his face with his hands. It was clear he was becoming far too comfortable around this mage.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone who has followed this story so far. The support really means a lot to me.   
> Please enjoy!

At some point during the course of his crisis he must've fallen asleep, for when he woke it was apparent that he hadn't even made it to his own bed. Instead he was reclined in his desk chair, arms falling limply to his sides. There was also that nasty crick in his neck.

Cullen opened his eyes to his darkened office. Though the sun was beginning to rise, it would be some time before its rays reached the protected walls of Skyhold. He could work with that.

At least no one had come in to see him in such a negligent state of repose.

Right about the time he'd thought he would escape the folly of the previous night with his dignity intact, a large wet tongue lapped at the tips of his dangling fingers.

He snatched his hand away, glaring over at the dog who'd opened his dopey jowls in what the Commander suspected was the canine version of a grin. Then its tongue lolled out.

Curling his upper lip in an annoyed scowl, Cullen straightened himself and stretched with his arms above his head as he stood.

When he looked down the dog remained, still panting with that absurd pink tongue wiggling about.

"Go away."

Figuring he'd get to work early, Cullen sat back down in his chair to begin reorganizing the reports he'd apparently scattered during the course of his sleep. He was ever a messy, pushy sleeper. Once when he was just a new recruit in the Order, he had flailed about so much while he slept that he'd fallen right out of his bunk. The sizable drop to the floor left him stunned and at the mercy of the other recruits who teased him mercilessly about it for years after.

That was one of the few pleasant memories he had of the Order.

His eyes scanned the parchment before him as he tapped his lips with the end of his quill. How best to word this…

A sudden weight in his lap jarred him from his thoughts and he looked down to scowl once more at the blighted dog. Its head was couched firmly on one thigh, doleful eyes turned up to meet his.

"What do you want? Leave. I have work to do."

It didn't. The beast only had the audacity to whine which added to Cullen's steadily growing headache. Maker, if this dog wasn't so precious to Evelyn he would have fed it to a troll.

Seeing that he would get no peace here, the irritated Commander rose again. Dislodged from his previous position, the Mabari stood with that stupid dog grin on its face.

Cullen didn't even spare a backward glance as he left the room, but the clicking of claws on the stone beside him told him that he was being followed.

The beast was a plague, a pestilence, a bloody nuisance. Only once in the entirety of its existence had it redeemed itself for being so aggravating, and that was the day it had helped save Evelyn.

He eyed the dog trotting along at his side. "You are lucky, beast."

It barked, seeming to agree with him on that.

Cullen hadn't paid much attention to where his feet were carrying him, or realized the Mabari was herding him, until he opened the Chantry door, startling Evelyn out of her prayers. He shot a murderous glare at the dog before quickly apologizing to her.

She shook her head, moving over to make room for him on the worn old prayer mat she had found. "It's fine. You're welcome to join me if you'd like."

If he were smart he would have made an excuse to not take her up on her offer.

He didn't.

Ignoring the tongue-waggling, grinning Mabari outside, he heeled the door shut and took the spot Evelyn had cleared for him on the mat. She waited for him to settle before resuming the Chant, and though he usually participated, he found in this instance he could not. He desired to listen to her voice speak the words rather than worship himself, and that blasphemous little desire had him asking the silent visage of Andraste for forgiveness. So consumed was he with his repentance that he hadn't noticed she had finished, and was now sitting quietly studying him.

Evelyn held her smile inward, pleased that he had come when he did. She had a frightening encounter last night while she slept. Again, something had come into her room, keen on prowling about to unnerve her before it demanded only one thing.

Let me in.

She suppressed a shudder. Whatever it was, it was demonic in nature. Her worry was that part of Envy still existed and had somehow followed them from Therinfal. She'd never heard of such a thing, but that did not mean it was impossible. She only wished for it to not be true.

Cullen's quiet, strong presence comforted her. It made her feel protected, though she wasn't sure he would be able to do much about something neither of them could clearly identify or even see. Still, she was relieved.

Waiting a few more minutes, she dared to speak and hoped she wasn't interrupting anything important. "Did you sleep well?"

He took a steadying breath. "More or less."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I fell asleep in my desk chair."

She smirked. "Do you ever stop working?"

"Not if I can help it," he admitted. Staying busy was one way to keep his body distracted from the increasingly persistent side effects of his condition. It also exhausted him so thoroughly that he didn't dream. That was a blessing.

The delicate frown on her face almost convinced him to confide in her, but he didn't want to worry her. He also didn't want to risk the nature of his "illness" getting out. This was a private matter, and only he and Cassandra knew the whole of it.

"Do you have bad dreams?"

Maker, she was insightful. No wonder Josephine had lobbied so vehemently for her to remain with them.

"Usually."

"Me too."

He hadn't expected that. Turning more fully toward her, he cocked his head questioningly. He knew mages were constantly exposed to negative influences from the Fade, but Evelyn explicitly knew the difference between a bad dream and a solicitation from a demon.

She brought her legs out from beneath her and instead pulled them up in front of her. Her arms wrapped around her knees while she propped her chin atop them.

"What are yours about?" She asked curiously, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

Oh, if she only knew how complicated answering that question was.

"I'm not exactly sure how much of it is memory and how much of it is just my mind making things up, but my worst dreams are from the collapse of the Circle at Kinloch Hold." Just speaking of it aloud gave him anxiety. He'd endured months of counseling at Gwaren after the fact which was when they began to raise his Lyrium doses. They said it would help, but it didn't deal with the bitter hatred he had felt toward mages and anything else having to do with magic - only the memories. Fuzzy for most of his time in Kirkwall, the nightmares were returning in terrifyingly vivid force.

She bit her lower lip, sensing his discomfort on the subject. While curious, Evelyn couldn't bring herself to make him relive whatever had happened just to satisfy her own curiosity.

"I'm sorry for prying."

"It's alright," he responded immediately. He wasn't ready to talk about this, and wasn't sure if he ever would be regardless of how kind and understanding Evelyn was.

"So what about the better times with the Order, or were you born with that scowl?"

He chuckled, pleased that she'd noticed his melancholy and combated it with humor.

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny. As it happens, I enjoyed my time when I wasn't being harried by abominations, demons, and demented Knight Commanders."

"Can you tell me about Kirkwall?" There was a hopeful, excited tone in her question. Clearly she was anticipating a good story.

"You could always talk to Varric about that."

"I want to hear your side, not the Champion's."

With an indulgent sigh he relented, beginning from the moment he stepped off the ship at the gallows.

* * *

It was late morning when Cullen and Evelyn had finally parted ways with his promise that he would continue telling her about his time in Kirkwall at the evening meal. Belatedly, he realized that he would be spending even more time in her presence.

He wasn't necessarily put off by the idea.

Maker only knew how much work he had neglected that day, but there was one thing he needed to attend to sooner rather than later.

His knock was answered by Josephine who was revealed upon his opening the old splintered pine door. She stood at her desk with a sheaf of paper in her hand and a quill tucked behind her ear.

"I've stopped by to tell you that I agree."

She blinked, turning away from her paper to fix him with a confused frown. "Agree with what?"

"That Evelyn should stay with us after the rifts are closed. She would be a great asset to the Inquisition."

He'd been observing her from a distance since their arrival at Skyhold. Initially he'd begun by telling himself that he was merely concerned for her health. After all, she'd been through quite the ordeal with Corypheus. Later, when it was obvious that she had made a full recovery, he'd watched her simply to try and figure her out. Cullen had puzzled over her since they'd met, and found himself filing away bits a pieces of information that would later allow him a better understanding of her.

Her patience was evident by the way she spoke to everyone with the same attention and concern. Her kindness was clear from the amount of time she spent playing with the Inquisition's displaced children. Her intelligence inarguably surpassed his own on matters of diplomacy. She and Cole could often be found milling around the soldier's sickbeds, both eager to assist the wounded and dying men in any way they could. Evelyn had quite the knack for nursing. All these things in addition to her unwavering empathy for others finally convinced Cullen that she did, in fact, have a place here in the Inquisition.

A wry smile lifted the corner of Josephine's mouth at his admission. "Are you saying that I was correct? I need to hear these words."

He laughed. "I'll say that your plea caused me to rethink my initial answer, but not that you were necessarily correct."

Leliana joined them, silently passing through the open doorway. "What are you two bullying each other over now?"

Josephine answered before he could gather the words to reply. "We think Lady Trevelyan should stay with the Inquisition. Do you not agree she would make a rather lovely figurehead?"

The spymaster hesitated only a moment before giving a swift nod. "She will need some coaching to withstand many of our noble guests, but she has the natural talent for speaking with people." She grinned at Cullen. "She's certainly won you over."

He snorted, not bothering to rise to the bait. Leliana was ever teasing him about one thing or another, though he knew her intentions were innocent play.

"Then it's settled," Josephine grinned, pleased that she had the support of her companions. "We will install her as the Inquisitor at the first opportunity. People will flock from all corners of Thedas to see the beautiful woman who would battle the evil denizens of the Fade to save the world." She snatched the quill from behind her ear. "I need to write that down."

The faint scratch of quill on parchment accompanied Leliana and Cullen's mutual looks of exasperation.

"Now all Cullen has to do is convince her to accept our offer," Josephine added with a flourish of her quill.

He blinked, momentarily confused. "What? Why me? This is your thing."

"It's your punishment for not agreeing with me from the first."

Scratch that. He had two unmerciful, teasing schoolgirls to contend with.

"Fine."

* * *

"...and this..." Evelyn turned the book around so that it could be seen clearly by the group of children fanned out in front of her, "...is a picture of him."

"It's huge!"

"Why does it have horns?"

"It's got red paint. I want red paint."

"How many people d'you think he's hacked up with that axe?"

"Eww! That's disgusting, Liam!"

She smiled, raising her eyes to the heavens to ask Andraste for understanding.

"First of all, Henry, he is not an "it". This is a Qunari."

"Well he's bloody massive, he is."

She nodded, in agreeance on that point. "Yes, but still a creation of the Maker."

"The Qunari don't believe in the Maker, right?"

"Correct, Kara - at least not in the same way we do. Which is perfectly fine."

Kara, the girl Cullen had pulled out of the burning house, was settling in nicely at Skyhold. Since her discovery in the Hinterlands she'd been taken in by a women who now worked in the kitchens. Having no daughters of her own and no fear of magic, she seemed the perfect fit for the mageling, and for that Evelyn was grateful. Kara had a place to call home, and had begun taking history lessons with Evelyn, her adopted brothers, and a gaggle of other boys and girls that'd come in with the Inquisition's rising number of supporters.

Kara furrowed her tawny brows for a moment, trying to puzzle out Evelyn's answer. The world was so full of hate and segregation that it must have been hard for her to separate all she had seen and been told with what her teacher was saying now. The girl was a quick study and had a good heart, however, and slowly came to understand the point the older woman was trying to make.

"Strength lies in differences and not similarities."

Evelyn grinned. "Exactly."

Cullen watched the group from just outside his tower door, the Mabari sitting at his feet having found him once again.

While he couldn't discern a word of what was being said across the courtyard, it was obvious the children were happy. He thought to admire Evelyn's patience with them. He certainly wouldn't have the wherewithal to endure the questioning, absurd comments, and constant fidgeting the little band of urchins assailed her with time and again. He liked children, certainly, but the moment he couldn't use his soldier's logic on them he was doomed.

Lesson apparently over for the day, Evelyn stood to see them off. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and it appeared at the same moment the dog noticed too. The Mabari let loose a growl, paws resting on the low wall.

Teague.

"Yeah, I don't blame you," Cullen spoke to the Mabari. "I don't like him, either."

The Templar started to walk toward the Tavern, but caught sight of Evelyn and abruptly changed course. Cullen hurried to intercept him before he got to her.

This would not go well.

The last of the children had hugged Evelyn and bid her goodbye before she realized he was behind her.

"Not good enough that you poison the Order, but now you're working on the kids, too? Tainted bitch."

Schooling her expression, she turned slowly, nodding her head to indicate she had heard him. "Good afternoon, Ser Teague. May I help you with something?" Evelyn kept her hands clasped in front of her, trying to appear non-threatening.

"You should be put down like the animal you are!" His voice carried to others in the yard just as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

Abruptly his grip failed him. Cullen grasped Teague's wrist and yanked him forward to throw him off balance, meeting the crooked Templar's face with his armored fist in a quick and debilitating punch. Teague stumbled backward, hands flying to his face in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood that had burst from his nose.

Cullen followed each of his backward movements by stepping forward, keeping himself in close proximity to the offensive man.

"Get out."

"But-"

Cullen struck out with his leg, sweeping it beneath Teague and knocking the Templar to the ground. The Commander crouched down beside the groaning, bloodied excuse for a man and lowered his voice to a threatening timbre.

"Get. Out."

When Teague lost consciousness Cullen sighed, motioning two soldiers over to them.

"I want him gone. Take him beyond the gates and drop him off wherever. I don't care."

"Looks like the Commander did alright," Bull said standing defensively beside Evelyn. He'd hurried toward her when Teague began making his threats, but Cullen had beaten him to the punch. Literally.

"A shame Teague couldn't let go of his anger." Evelyn murmured.

"Can't save everyone, Boss. Need anything, just holler." The massive Qunari relaxed and lumbered off back toward the bar.

Once the Templar had been unceremoniously dragged beyond the gates, Cullen turned back toward her. His amber eyes gave her a cursory once-over. Satisfied that she was unharmed, he let himself relax.

"Sorry about that."

"Are you okay?" She asked.

He snorted, but wore a small smile. "He attacks you, yet you worry over my safety?"

"He didn't touch me."

"Thank the Maker. He would have likely killed you were you alone."

Evelyn gave a smile of her own, holding up her hands to remind him of her magic. "Unlikely, but thank you."

Their mutual staring contest, something becoming maddeningly frequent, was interrupted by an amused guffaw.

"Takin' a gander at the last guy, looks like I joined up with you guys at the perfect time. When do I get to punch someone like that?"

The voice behind Cullen caused the Commander to tense again. He blew a sigh through his nose in irritation before he turned around to regard the raven-haired beauty who stood, hands on hips, with a lopsided grin before him.

"How's it hangin',  _Commander_?"

"Hawke."


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was slipping beneath the horizon when Cullen finally left Hawke and Varric at the Tavern. Maker, she'd been through the ringer these past few years. Ever since she'd elected to leave Kirkwall behind her remaining companions had, one by one, left her side to pursue their own interests and lives. It'd left her somewhat alone, aside from the occasional run in with Isabella at port and writing to Varric. He'd even asked her about Fenris, one of the only people she'd hung around that he genuinely liked, to which she only quieted and told him to get back to work before he was missed. That was a suspiciously responsible comment for Hawke.

Now here he was, having completely neglected his earlier goal of persuading Evelyn to become the Inquisition's political figurehead. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried. Today had been one thing after another, and frankly Teague's attempted assault on her had left Cullen feeling more than a little heated. The memory made his fingers tighten into fists, the anger flowing through him once more as he mounted the steps into the main hall.

Most were already eating as the day drew to a close. Children ran about, soldiers laughed boisterously in a corner, and Evelyn was nowhere to be found. Even at the table she and their agents usually occupied only Bull, Dorian and Solas remained.

The Qunari lifted his horned head in greeting as the Commander approached. "Good on you for putting that asshole in his place, Commander."

Dorian snorted, the indignant expression on his face mirroring Cullen's feelings on the subject. "I believe asshole is too nice an adjective for him."

Cullen could feel the mage's magic snap in tandem with his anger. It put him on the defensive. Though he knew Dorian was proficient at his craft, old habits died hard, and old fears even harder.

"If you're looking for her she's gone down to that horrible drafty ballroom with Cole, likely studying that text I gave her earlier." Dorian eyed Cullen with a bemused twitch of his mustache.

"I still think she should adopt the practices of a Keeper. She's already halfway there with her healing." Solas spoke more to himself, though the comment was intended for Dorian.

"Have you seen her work? Force magic is definitely her thing, though I don't know what she hopes to learn from a book. It's much better to practice and blow something up than rely on theory."

"To that, I agree," the elf replied, going back to sipping a mug of something that smelled a bit too much like dirt for Cullen's taste.

Their discussion had given him an idea. "Dorian, you should practice with her. I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

"Oh no. I'm not as adept, even with her ignorance of how diverse her branch of magic is. I fear I would only confuse her. You know, whoever told her to never practice offensive magic clearly never anticipated her having to defend herself. It's preposterous."

"I have a feeling whoever told her that was intending on defending her in some other way," Cullen guessed, though he was beginning to suspect her association with the Templars ran deeper than she and Peter had let on.

"Who sucks at magic?"

Everyone looked up, but Cullen seemed to be the only person who didn't regard Hawke with complete surprise. Or adoration. Or unmitigated lust as in The Iron Bull's case.

"I thought you needed a moment," Cullen spoke quietly.

"Took it. I'm over it. So, seriously, who needs help?"

"Evelyn. She's never been taught how to use offensive spells. Obviously I cannot help her with the particulars - and being the test dummy has its drawbacks."

She snorted, raising a single black eyebrow at him. "You've let her hit you? With magic. You?"

"Yes, me."

Blowing a low whistle from between her lips she widened her eyes. "Damn, you have changed."

"Haven't we all?"

"Point taken. Now, how can I help?"

Cullen and Hawke paused at the base of the stair that led out to the ballroom.

"Images. Memories. They dance by without seeing. Laughs that make no sound. Energy with no place to go. It is sad, but it is natural."

"So you can see them as well? I shouldn't be surprised." Evelyn's voice carried throughout the stone chamber.

"Yes."

Cullen's brows snapped down over his eyes in a small frown, curious and yet uneasy about the nebulous subject they were discussing. Deciding he'd rather put an end to it than have it continue, he was the first to move into the room. Hawke fell in close behind him.

"Evelyn, do you have a moment?"

She turned to him with a smile, one which only widened when she caught sight of Hawke.

"I do, Commander. Serah Hawke, I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

Hawke smirked, clearly finding the woman's sense of propriety amusing. Whether that was good or bad, Cullen couldn't tell just yet.

"Please, just call me Hawke."

Evelyn nodded, kind expression unwavering. "I'm Evelyn Trevelyan. You can call me Evelyn. I'm not a particular fan of honorifics, either."

The smirk widened into a genuine smile. "So I hear you've been having trouble with Force magic?"

Evelyn's eyes flit to Cullen's questioningly a moment before falling back to Hawk's gaze. "That's correct."

"Well you're in luck. I've dabbled in that branch and I think I'll at least be able to show you the basics of tossing someone off your back."

The look of appreciation and relief on her face surprised Hawke. Apparently the mage's lack of experience had been weighing on her. Cullen had commented to her before they arrived that Evelyn, while cautious about the way her magic was used toward others, was not above learning a skill that may aid her in a difficult situation.

Obviously having a brush with death at the hands of an undead darkspawn magister from the Void itself would put anyone on edge. It'd certainly creeped Hawke out after she'd received Varric's letter.

"I appreciate it, Hawke. Oh, how rude of me." She stepped back to reveal Cole. "This is Cole. He's a spirit."

Hawk curled her lip. "Not Justice, I hope."

Cole's eyes passed knowingly over the Champion. "Mages and Templars. It wasn't supposed to come to this. Blood has to be spilled. Someone must pay. The flash of a knife. A silent death. Blood drips from her hands and she asks 'Why me?'"

"Neat party trick. Kinda scary."

Evelyn didn't seemed bothered in the least. "He means you no harm."

Cullen wanted to argue that, but held his tongue.

"I'll take your word for it. Now, if you're game to start, you should show me what you can do."

"This is  _awesome_! How do you focus that well? I've never seen Force magic do this!"

Evelyn blushed at Hawke's praise, but was pleased to explain to the woman how she created her barrier. The two had learned much from one another, and while neither were instant masters at their new skills, the night had been educational none the less.

He didn't think he'd ever seen Hawke have fun, Cullen thought as he stood at the edge of the room watching them. There was a light that shone on her eyes that hadn't been there since the death of her mother. Evelyn seemed to be enjoying herself as well, rather quickly soaking up any word of advice Hawke had to offer.

Perhaps he'd created a monster, but he felt  _good_  about this. It was as he'd said before: If Evelyn was going to be effective in a fight, she had to learn how to defend herself from damage and persistent assailants.

"She likes him," came Cole's soft voice over the din of firing spells. "He's sweet, but he's closed. Hiding something painful."

Cullen frowned, looking over at the Spirit who reclined against the wall beside him.

"Do you always do that?"

"It helps."

"Depends on who you think you're helping."

"You."

If he didn't know better, he'd say it was getting cheeky. When he looked back to argue the spirit was gone. Damned thing. It definitely wasn't helping.

"Well, I'm totally drained," Hawked groaned, stretching her arms above her head. "Don't know about you, but I'm going to head to the tavern and find a bed to crash in."

"You can stay here, if you like," Evelyn offered, but Hawke refused with an appreciative smile.

"Nah. I'll feel more at home sleeping above a bunch of drunk, belligerent refugees than in a quiet keep. Thanks for the offer. We should do this again sometime." Hawke made for the stair, nodding to Cullen before bidding them both goodnight.

"I think I've learned more from her in just a few hours than I have in years on my own. Hawke is a truly skilled mage."

Cullen only nodded, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at the notion of the pair of them in a room alone. Not just any room -  _this_ room. The room where he'd suddenly gotten the urge to brush his lips over hers, to see if it felt the same way her magic did when it sparked across his senses.

She likes you.

Damn. Definitely  _not helping._

"Are you feeling alright?"

She was suddenly much closer, wearing that concerned little frown he was beginning to become fond of.

"You've asked me three times since this morning. Nothing has changed."

It'd come out a bit more irritated than he'd intended, but she gave no indication if his snappishness had bothered her. She only nodded with a quick apology.

"It is late. I should be getting to bed myself," she murmured, glancing out the windows to see the sliver of a moon shining beyond.

"Ah, that reminds me," Cullen spoke, drawing her sapphire-colored eyes back to him. "The other advisers and I have been speaking at length about you. We feel, if you agree that is, that we should offer you a more permanent and official place within the Inquisition."

She regarded him with a look of confusion.

He sighed, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck. "We would like you to stay with us formally - as the Inquisitor. It's mostly just a title, but the people love you. They rally behind you. If nothing else, you serve as a beacon of hope for them - a unifying force. That is exactly what we need."

She was silent for a long time. So long, in fact, that Cullen thought he hadn't been clear enough or that she would refuse. She surprised him. Again.

"I would be working together with Leliana, Josephine, and you?"

The inflection she placed on the word "you" wasn't lost on him, momentarily bringing his mind back to his earlier desire.

"Yes." It was all he could do to sound professional about it. Thank the Maker that hadn't come out half-choked with nerves. Stuttering had been a problem of his before he'd been taken in by the Order. Since, it'd only become a nervous habit.

Evelyn smiled slowly. "I would like that."

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Good. You just saved me from Josephine's unholy wrath."

* * *

Evelyn moved into the hall through the set of massive double doors aware that she was late and worried Cullen would rescind the offer he'd made her the previous night. To her relief, he stood waiting for her outside the door to Josephine's office. When he spotted her he offered a small smile, but Evelyn could see plainly that if he had slept the previous night, it was very little.

Samson walked quickly along at her side, a profusion of apologies on his lips for his associate's behavior the evening before.

"I apologize on Teague's behalf, my Lady. He did not mean-"

"Oh, he did mean, Samson. While I appreciate your desire to make amends, I really must be going now. With a small wave she hurried away to Cullen's side.

The Templar she left behind looked less than pleased, but turned quickly on his heel and left.

"Are you feeling well, Cullen?" Evelyn asked, noting the fatigue in his gaze.

"A bit under the weather. It will pass." He opened the door for her, letting her enter before he followed.

She didn't buy that this illness would pass as he'd said. She'd been noticing his deteriorating condition since their arrival at Skyhold and it worried her. The serious nature of whatever was ailing him had made itself apparent today by what he'd decided to wear to the war room. He'd forgone his armor and even the considerably lighter dress armor intended for less lethal tasks like signing orders. Instead he wore a simple pair of black buckskin leggings under his boots and a long-sleeved shirt of wyvern scales. Over that he'd kept his burgundy raiment with the high collar of long, black fur. It spoke volumes about how his body was handling whatever was bothering him. The clothing was light, offered little protection, and was simply warm and comfortable.

Cullen always wore armor - some even said while he slept. Something was wrong.

"Are you sure it's nothing I can help with?"

"No. You cannot help with this, but I thank you for the offer."

He pushed open another set of double doors and they stepped into the war room where Josephine and Leliana stood waiting for them. The Antivan was the first to greet Evelyn, walking over to take her hands on both of hers.

"I'm pleased that you've agreed to stay, Lady Trevelyan. Your support will do wonders for us socially."

Evelyn still had reservations about that, but if Josephine thought she could be useful, then she would listen to the woman. She knew what she was talking about.

"I am glad I can be of some help," She replied quietly with a small smile.

Her mind was still with Cullen, noting the way in which he crossed the room to round the table. There was a stiffness in his step and a lethargy to his movements that compounded her concern.

Leliana motioned Evelyn over to the table where Josephine joined them, and she approached to see the massive political map that spanned the entire space atop it. This particular map was different than the one lost at Haven, but several markers had been placed indicating previously addressed situations.

"Once we formally instate you," Leliana began, "Josephine and I would like to task you with returning to Val Royeaux. We have garnered the interest of a highly placed Knight Enchanter by the name of Lady Vivienne of Wycome. She was set to assume the role of First Enchanter at Montsimmard, but when the Circles fell she was displaced."

Evelyn inclined her head, smirking in a way that pulled Cullen's interest.

"I know of her."

"Excellent. Then you two will probably get along." Leliana spoke without looking up from the map. She completely missed Evelyn's pleading look to the heavens or the nervous laugh she muffled with the back of her hand.

"We should also mention the instatement ceremony," Josephine intervened, scribbling something down on that board of hers.

"Ceremony?" Evelyn quirked one pale brow at Cullen, who only shrugged back in confusion.

"Yes. We need to make a day of it. There can be no doubt that we officially support your new role in the Inquisition. We will need proper robes made for you and-"

A knock at the door interrupted her. When Josephine called to enter a woman swept in with a bolt of what Evelyn thought to be very fine raw silk in a shade of red she had never before encountered. It reminded her of an Embrium bloom.

Close behind the fabric came a soldier bearing a long wooden box.

"Ah! Just in time," Josephine smiled, clearly pleased with whatever was going on. Everyone in the room aside from Leliana looked completely flummoxed. "Evelyn, you will need to go with Fiora to get your measurements taken, but first you should see the sword."

The poor mage felt like a whirlwind was beginning to swirl about her. "Sword?"

"It's the ceremonial blade belonging to the Inquisition since the first. I thought you could use it to make your instatement more...powerful."

The man holding the box opened the lid to reveal a very old, very finely crafted weapon that Evelyn was a bit intimidated by just looking at it. She wasn't entirely sure that was the kind of message she wanted to send about herself, but before she could protest the man thrust the hilt into her hands. The sudden weight of it threw her off guard with a small, surprised squeak of dismay. Were it not for Cullen's quick reaction she would easily have been dragged to the floor by such a heavy blade.

His arm was around her waist, pulling her upright while he took the blade from both of her clasped hands. It was effortless. The ease with which he placed the blade back into the box made her feel weak.

"That sword is far too heavy for most to handle, Josephine. How do you expect Evelyn to make anything of it, least of all this "show" you're so keen on producing?"

His words made her feel a little better, and she would be dead if she hadn't noticed the effect his touch had on her. It was an innocent contact intended to help. So why did she feel like her skin was burning, then suddenly frigid with want of it?

Leliana watched the entire debacle with a knowing smile. "I have a suggestion."

Five pairs of eyes regarded her curiously before she moved to speak again. "Josephine, I think it would much better suit Lady Trevelyan's image if we were to procure or commission a diadem. The flourish you are so desiring could be easily achieved if Cassandra crowned her."

Evelyn, while seeming a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny, heartily agreed with Leliana. She would never in her wildest dreams be able to hold that sword up.

"That will work," Josephine relented with only a small frown before she wrote something else down. "Now Evelyn, off with you. We have very little time to prepare."

With that she was ushered out of the room by Fiora and her armful of red silk.

* * *

"Was it that bad?" Cullen asked, standing over Evelyn as she lay on the cool floor of the ballroom.

"I have never been assaulted by a pin so many times in my life." She cracked one eye open to look at him. "My parents never bothered with formal dresses. With five older brothers harassing me it was simply not cost effective."

He chuckled, moving to sit down beside her. His movements were sluggish - a mirror of earlier that morning. Worry lanced through her again, but she held her tongue. He was not receptive to her concern on this matter.

"I want to apologize to you for being unable to help you with your practice today."

He sounded bitter and disappointed in himself. Positive that he should feel nothing of the sort, Evelyn sat up so that they faced one another and fixed him with the kindest expression she could muster. It wasn't difficult. Lately every time she looked at him she felt herself relax a little. After everything she had been through, she was more than just grateful for his steadfast companionship and patience.

"It's no trouble. I don't feel particularly keen on draining my magic more than I already have today."

He frowned, searching her eyes. "You used magic?"

She shook her head. "I never cast any sort of spell, but the fitting stressed me out. I couldn't help my gut reaction to the pain."

"I'm not sure I understand."

She chewed her lower lip a moment, an action Cullen followed very closely, as she searched for a way to explain.

"Mages live in a state of constant tension. It would be a lot like flexing a muscle, but it never ends. At first it isn't so difficult, but as time passes control weakens and it's impossible to prevent little tremors in our "muscles" to stop some of the tension from releasing."

"Keeping yourself constantly in check."

She nodded with a smile. "Some mages don't practice this kind of restraint. I hate to say it, but they are usually the ones who turn to blood magic. Without feeling the constant weight of their true power to remind them, they lose sight of their potential to cause harm." She waved a hand, as if to wipe that thought aside. "Anyway, Since the Conclave I have not been able to relax and let go of my control for a while to regain a firm hold on my abilities again. That blighted needle was poking holes in more than just my skin."

Cullen had never in his life heard such an explanation, but he supposed it made sense. When conditioning, a soldier needed to practice forms, but rest was just as important to a healthy and whole body. It seemed mages weren't so different. He'd been saying that quite a bit lately.

"You haven't been able to relax?"

She looked sheepish and a little guilty. "I was afraid of showing myself and what I'm capable of to the Inquisition. You'll recall I was not necessarily met with cheerfulness."

He nodded, not apologizing for his earlier hesitancy. She would not want him to. The Commander always did what he thought best, and he was not wrong to be suspicious of her. Were their positions reversed, she might have felt the same way.

"You are accepted now. Why not try?"

She gave him a searching look. "I have done this before in front of Peter. Even he says it's unnerving."

"I'll be fine."

She hesitated, but ultimately gave way. Evelyn gathered her legs beneath her and breathed out slowly. As she felt the air leaving her lungs she gently, carefully, loosened her hold on her energy.

She was staring at a spot just beyond Cullen's shoulder when she saw him stiffen and immediately clamped back down to prevent his unease. "I'm sorry. It-"

"Don't stop," he spoke quietly. His amber gaze was unwavering when her eyes met his.

Maker, why did it feel so warm in here all of a sudden?

She tried again, and this time he did not so much as flinch.

Cullen felt the tendrils of her energy surrounding him within the closed space. At first his old panic had surfaced, instinct screaming at him to draw his sword. However, as he bid her to continue, he became more comfortable with it - with her. Yes, the sheer volume of her power caused the hair to stand on the nape of his neck, but he took a wicked kind of satisfaction in it. If someone had told him ten years ago that he would be sitting in a closed room alone with a mage as she exercised her control over her abilities, he would have thought them completely mad. Even Solona had never garnered as much trust.

Cullen had left Evelyn and the others shortly after dinner later that evening. He pulled at the collar of his overcoat, stripping it from his heated body and tossing it aside as he entered his office. Though the moment it was off he suddenly felt cold. A shiver raced down the column of his spine that turned his skin into gooseflesh.

Frantically he looked about the room, trying to find something - anything - that would satisfy this latest need. He found nothing. Paperwork wouldn't hold his interest. He would simply pull out his Lyrium kit and stare at as he'd done the night before. He hadn't slept at all, only barely resisting the inviting instruments of his doom.

Cullen shoved a hand through his hair, curls beginning to develop from the cold sweat that had broken out over his body. He couldn't stay here. Not alone. Not like this. He needed to  _work_.

Taking only his sword and the clothes on his back, he hurriedly left his office and descended the stone stairway leading to the training ground. No one was about at this hour which afforded him the privacy he would need to get over this hill of obsession.

His boots met with the soft sand they'd laid down for sparring practice and onto it he placed his sword. Lifting his shirt over his head he threw that down too, then dropped to the ground. Cullen lifted his body back up with his arms, legs straight out behind him, then lowered. He repeated this until he'd set a pace for himself, the burning in his arms through the exercise a comfort rather than a nuisance.

He'd lost track of how many push-ups he'd done, and was only interrupted from his almost meditative state when someone  _sat_ on his back. The familiar scent of wood smoke gave her away.

Hawke.

"I thought I'd come keep you company," she spoke, biting into an apple she'd pilfered from the dinner table.

Cullen didn't answer, refocusing on his new task of carrying her weight as well, though his pace didn't falter.

"And while you look absolutely gorgeous out here in the middle of the night completely naked but for a pair of breeches, I can't help but be as concerned as Evelyn that something isn't quite right with you, Alter Boy."

"Quiet, Hawke. I don't want to talk about it," he managed through gritted teeth.

"Don't play stupid - at least not with me."

"Shut up."

Instead of deterring her, his anger seemed to only egg her on.

"Don't you think it's a bit rude to keep something as deadly as Lyrium withdrawal from your friend?"

The wind was knocked completely from her lungs when Cullen abruptly shifted to throw her from his back. Before she knew it he was hovering over her, sweaty, chest heaving with exertion, and deliciously pissed off. His outburst tipped her off instantly.

"You  _like_  her."

"Of course I do," he panted. "She's a decent human being, which is more than what I can say for you. How did you know?"

"You wound me, Commander." Hawke smiled, bemused and seeming wholly unaffected by his weight resting on top of her. "I simply put two and two together."

Cullen rolled his eyes and shifted to stand. He didn't believe a word of that lame explanation. He would never give Hawke's cunning that little credit.

She sat up, taking Cullen's offered hand to pull her to a stand. "But in all seriousness, how are you holding up, big guy? Is it-?"

"It's painful and consumes my every thought." He gestured to the ground where he was just attempting to drive his body to its absolute limits. "Work helps push the cravings away."

"How long? Since you left Kirkwall?"

He nodded, picking up his shirt to wipe away the sweat that was beginning to cool on his body. "When I left the Order I swore I wouldn't take it again. It's like a leash the Chantry uses to enslave us, and I won't be part of it."

There was a lot more to it than that, Hawke knew, but she had other matters to discuss with him tonight, though pestering the poor man was always a treat.

"We finally agree on that, I see. Anyway, I came out here to tell you that I've made contact with a Warden friend of mine in Crestwood. Given Leliana's information, I think it's prudent to find out just what is going on with them because it's beginning to get scary."

Cullen's brow furrowed. "In what way?"

"I received a letter from Solona this morning. She and Alistair are hearing the Calling. You know as well as I do that they're too young for that. Stranger still is that my contact is also hearing it."

"You think the Wardens might all be hearing the Calling?"

"All three of my Warden pals at once? It seems like a logical conclusion to me."

Hawke's pretty eyes were sharp and calculating, and Cullen was brought back to a time when they'd made their unspoken truce along the cliffs of the Wounded Coast. Despite her sarcastic front, she was a remarkably shrewd woman.

"I would have to agree. When are you heading out?"

"After Evelyn's shindig. I don't want people to know where I'm going except for those that absolutely need to."

"Aww, I'm touched," Cullen teased, earning a wry smirk from the uncharacteristically solemn mage.

"Don't get smart, Commander."

"Good luck, Hawke. Maker watch over you."

She shrugged, rolling that blessing off of her back. The Chantry meant little to her.

"You know, if all you have to do to beat an addiction is run around shirtless and sweaty then please, do every self-respecting lady here a favor and keep at it." She pat his shoulder, grinning at the perturbed blush on his cheeks before sauntering away.

Maker, that woman was insufferable.

* * *

Cullen had just walked into the main hall from his office when he saw the multitude of people bustling about. They were no doubt following Josephine's every whim preparing for the ceremony to instate Evelyn as Inquisitor. Amid the chaos he saw Bull who towered over Leliana and their frighteningly efficient ambassador. They were shifting about back and forth in front of some kind of absurdly bright drapery. Josephine stood back with a finger tapping her lower lip, revealing what she had been obscuring moments before.

_Maker's breath._

Evelyn stood perfectly still as Dorian fussed with something in her hair, cursing in Tevinter at how lucky she was to have such a perfect shade of blonde. She wore a deep red robe, which Cullen would argue looked more like a dress, that hugged her torso before flaring out slightly at the curve of her hips. The neckline was wide, revealing a pair of delicately sloped shoulders.

If Josephine was trying to sell the woman she'd succeeded with Cullen. She looked...he couldn't coherently form the words.

When he drew closer to them Evelyn spotted him and smiled. "Well, Commander? Do I look as ridiculous as I feel? When Josephine said robe I'd no idea she really meant gown."

He stared at her, searching for something appropriate to say. "You look fine."

Hawke and Varric scowled at him, the former elbowing him in the ribs. "He means you look beautiful."

"Which everyone here with a pair of eyes would agree to," Varric added.

Cullen ignored them both, noticing Cassandra was fussing as much over Evelyn as Dorian was. The Seeker didn't strike him as the kind of woman who knew dresses, but she was straightening and fluffing like she was a seamstress. Perhaps she'd retained some of that noble habit from her earlier years.

"Cassandra, it's fine. I won't burst into flame if one tiny wrinkle shows."

"Nonsense. Josephine is organizing this so the Inquisition can make a point. I will take it as a personal insult if you don't go out there looking perfectly put together."

Evelyn sighed, but smiled at the Seeker. "Thank you for your help."

Cassandra waved a hand, a small smile of her own forming on her lips. "It's nothing. You've never had an experience like this before being sent to the Circle so young."

"It makes me a little nervous, to be honest."

"Nerves are fine. Just don't show them, understand?" She looked up at Evelyn who gave a firm nod.

"Understood."

"Aha! I've finally gotten the damned thing to stay." Dorian chuckled at his handiwork, quickly arranging Evelyn's hair over her shoulders. It fell in a cascade of white-blonde curls down her back.

"That's quite lovely Dorian." Cassandra spoke, seeming quite astonished at the complicated, if entirely unintentional, knot held in place by a simple silver clasp.

"My dear, I can do  _anything_  I set my mind to."

Evelyn chuckled at the pair. Cassandra was correct in that she was unused to such pampering, but if she were completely honest it felt kind of nice.

"Are you ready Cassandra? Evelyn? We should go," Josephine shifted about, clearly eager to see them adhere to some kind of schedule.

Both women nodded, making their way toward the doors. Despite herself Evelyn felt a bundle of nerves settle in her throat and her hands began to shake.

Cullen took it upon himself to place a hand on her shoulder and lean in to speak quietly to her without being heard by the others. "Don't be so nervous. If anything happens, we're right here beside you."

She gave him a tremulous smile, but straightened her shoulders and tried to appear more confident. It was all she could do before she was outside, an incredible gathering of people in the yard below. Suddenly she felt like her heart was going to pound right out of her chest.

Evelyn liked being with and around people, but the acute and unwavering attention, the scrutiny, and the hope she saw in their faces forced her stomach into her throat. What could she, a Circle mage from the Free Marches, have possibly done to earn such a following?

Maker, the only reasons she didn't slip away were standing at her back. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana all seemed rather pleased. Perhaps she should take note and try to emulate their easy manner.

It was much more difficult to do than she'd thought.

Andraste took pity on her when Cassandra had finished addressing the crowd, touting the mage's virtues and accomplishments and asking her to kneel.

Just as Josephine had instructed her, she dropped into a surprisingly graceful pose, lowering her lashes in anticipation. Could anyone else hear her rushing heartbeat?

"Evelyn Trevelyan, do you swear to uphold the dictates the Inquisition hands down, the morals we stand for, and our purpose to rout out evil and unify Thedas against our common enemy?"

"I do." Evelyn replied, her voice sounding much stronger than she thought it would.

"Do you swear to place others above yourself - to always help those in need?"

"Of course!" Her head shot up at the absurd question. At the sharp look from Josephine she blanched and quickly tried to save herself. "I - I mean, I do."

A small, good-natured chuckle rippled through the crowd. Cullen smiled. That mishap had endeared her to the people even more. It made her more relatable, that was certain.

"Then by the power invested in me by the late Divine Justinia, I name you Inquisitor!"

Cassandra gently placed the diadem upon her head and pulled Evelyn swiftly to her feet. The combined force of cheering and clapping was almost deafening to her ears, but she couldn't help the smile that quietly blossomed on her lips.

If all of these people believed in her, then she could at the very least try to believe in herself.

* * *

Evelyn was in the courtyard speaking with Cassandra when the call came from the watchmen. The loud bellow of the horn startled her into the Seeker, who was beginning to straighten the mage on her feet out of habit.

They had just returned from Val Royeaux with an elven rogue named Sera and the Knight Enchanter she had hoped she wouldn't have to deal with. Vivienne was, nicely put, a piece of work. The two had since been settled into their new lodgings, but if the trip back to Skyhold was any indication, Vivienne would be whining about her sore backside all day tomorrow.

And people said Evelyn was frail.

The two curious women moved to the steps leading down into the main yard, just able to see the source of all the commotion. A group of armored men sat on horseback, white banners flapping lazily in the cool breeze.

Evelyn would know them anywhere.

"Papa!"

Cassandra almost tripped she stopped so fast. "Papa?"

Evelyn nodded quickly, a smile brightening her face. "The gray horse dancing on the field of white." She pointed to the banner. "That's my house. Trevelyan."

The Seeker scrutinized the small company. Five men waited patiently in front of the heavy iron gate blocking access to Skyhold, all wearing  _Templar_  armor with  _Templar_ shields protecting their backs. The foremost removed his helm, looking up to where the guards were posted. "Greetings Inquisition on behalf of House Trevelyan. We request admittance to see for ourselves that one of our own yet lives among your ranks."

Evelyn, if possible, grew even more thrilled. "That's Aaron!"

Cassandra felt decidedly bewildered in the face of all of this new information. "Aaron?"

"Eldest brother. You'll love him."

They felt the stone tremble beneath them as the gate began to lift. It seemed Cullen had judged them fit to enter.

Evelyn shot off like her Mabari, somehow managing to not kill herself on the stairs as she descended the into the courtyard. Upon seeing her, one of the men jumped off his horse to greet her. Aaron swept Evelyn up into his arms and twirled her about as the siblings embraced, a second Templar stepping off his horse to wait for their enthused greetings to end before he came forward and removed his helm. Evelyn hugged him as well, pulling back to mirror his bemused smile.

"My dear, I fear Peter was right about your penchant for getting into trouble." Her father's aged voice was like a balm to her soul. Wizened eyes regarded her from beneath a mop of dark hair beginning to gray at the temples. How she'd missed him.

"He is probably right - and a horrible snitch." She replied, hands resting on his vambraces. "You came to see if I was here? Peter should have said-"

"He did say, but we heard about what happened at Haven and feared the worst," Aaron spoke, resting the heel of his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Thankfully," her father took over, "our friend Ian kept us updated on the Inquisition's progress to Skyhold by hawk. Be that as it may, I thought it best to come myself." His blue eyes, the very same shade as hers, looked past her to where Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana stood.

Belatedly, Evelyn remembered her manners. With a bit of a flustered blush she introduced the Inquisition's advisers to her father and eldest brother.

They recognized Cullen as another Templar immediately in much the same way she had. His posture, the way he turned just slightly away as if guarding himself with a shield, and his focused regard. All spoke of a life with the Order as clearly as it being written in a book if one knew what to look for.

Oddly enough, that seemed to relieve her father.

"Lord Trevelyan," Josephine interceded with her usual courtly grace, "Allow me to welcome you to Skyhold. Of course, you and your men may stay with us for as long as you wish. It is, after all, the least we can do."

"Thank you for the hospitality," Adair, Lord Trevelyan, inclined his head in acceptance.

Josephine motioned the party to follow her into the hall while Aaron began to nettle Evelyn for details about her journey thus far.

Later that evening as they sat around after dinner Cullen's mind was running full tilt down a steep mountainside, trying to process this new information. Knowing now where Evelyn came from - who she came from - caused many pieces of the puzzle surrounding her to suddenly fall into place.

Her ease with Templars despite the fact that she was a mage, her complete lack of any offensive ability, and her acceptance of Circle life - all those little questions teasing his brain had been answered.

It also ensured him that he was impossibly dull-witted.

Edward, the brother she had named previously, had been the Knight Commander of the Ostwick Circle of Magi for years - nearly as long as Cullen had been Knight Captain in Kirkwall. Belatedly, images of the name Edward Trevelyan penned on missives for Meredith cycled through his mind.

Doing a quick inventory from what Evelyn had said of her family, little as it was, left him knowing that every single member of her immediate family was a member of the Order. Only Evelyn's mother, Peter, and Evelyn herself were the exceptions.

Maker, everything made so much more sense.

"Commander?"

Cullen looked up at the sound of his title, meeting Aaron's sincere blue eyes. "Yes?"

"Before my father and I left Ostwick, my brother Edward told us about your history with the Order in Kirkwall. You were the Knight Commander there?"

Cullen nodded. "For a short time. As you know, after the incident with Meredith invoking the Right of Annulment, the mages were restless enough, and then they declared their independence. Seeker Cassandra offered me a position here, so I took what men would follow and joined the Inquisition. My intention was to secure a peace between the rebels." He rolled a shoulder. "Clearly that has not worked out."

"I don't think it ever will. Our family has been sheltering what mages still seek the protection of the Circle, but they are few and far between. I have only ever served in Ostwick, so I'm unsure of the conditions mages from other locations endured."

"Many were not pleasant," Cullen replied bitterly. He was partly the cause for such unfair treatment for a time. "Some were even abhorrent."

The other man sighed, looking like he felt a bit more relaxed. "I'm glad you have a level head, Commander. Many Templars we've encountered on the way here were rather...vocal with their dislike of magic."

Teague, Cullen mused.

"...which is another reason why we've come."

Adair's quiet and yet firm voice drifted through their conversation.

"We've encountered the red Templars before. They are not easy to defeat." Evelyn spoke honestly, remembering that she would rather not encounter another of those twisted things - much like she wished to avoid Vivienne. "But what do they have to do with your coming here?"

"It is highly likely that Michael has thrown in with them." Evelyn blanched at her father's reply. "I've sent a few men out to track him, and they managed to get as far as the Emprise. Unfortunately those same scouts returned to tell me of the number of Templars hiding out there were equivalent to a legion. It would be no easy task for us to find Michael and bring him back alone, which is why I am humbly asking the Inquisition for its aid in retrieving him."

"Do you think that location could be their base?" Cullen asked, drawing a thumb across the line of his jaw in thought.

"I think it is very likely that some activity of importance is taking place there."

Evelyn and Cullen turned to each other, seeming to understand without speaking what both of their answers would be.

"We so happen to have work to do in the Emprise, but will need to detour in the Emerald Graves," Evelyn reasoned. "There's a man there needing to speak to me about refugees and more red Templar sightings."

"If you and your men would go ahead and secure a camp, I can send Inquisition soldiers with you to the Emprise while we take care of that business in the Graves." Cullen offered. "Our delay would be no more than a day. A simple scouting mission if I can help it."

Adair watched the two closely for a moment before nodding in agreement. "That is more help than I expected. I thank you, Cullen."

The Commander inclined his head, saying nothing against the use of his given name. The man was old enough to be  _his_  father. "Is another day and night of rest sufficient?"

"That should be more than enough," Aaron nodded. "And I can sleep on a  _real_  bed for the first time in weeks."

Evelyn chuckled. "Still a big baby about your beauty sleep hmm, brother?"

"No less than you, sister."


	8. Chapter 8

 

The morning they left Skyhold was warm despite the shadow cast by the battlements over their party. Cullen enjoyed the quiet stillness of the courtyard this hour as he led both his and Evelyn’s mounts out of the stables.

Adair Trevelyan, looking very much a regal Lord even inside of his Templar armor, commanded the attention of everyone present despite the fact that he was doing nothing but standing there. He spoke to Evelyn, to whom the rest of the family referred to as Evie, saying something about making sure to to not use her magic unless absolutely necessary.

Cullen suppressed a smile at that. Apparently Lord Trevelyan had no idea of what his daughter had been up to in his absence. Would he have been surprised or horrified? Cullen didn’t know enough about him to say for sure. What he did know was that the man was besotted with his daughter and youngest child. It was clear to anyone who watched them embrace before the Trevelyan group cantered out of Skyhold that the he did not care one whit if his daughter had been born a mage.

All Templars should be so accepting, he thought to himself, watching Evelyn kneel down in front of her Mabari. Ruffling the hair on the scruff of his neck she said, “Alright, Ferelden. You keep Cole out of trouble and be sure to greet Peter if he comes back before we do.”

The dog barked as if understanding a word of what she’d just said.

The Commander cast his eyes to the heavens before leading the horses up to where Evelyn stood. “You named the beast Ferelden?”

She straightened up from the ground with a cheeky smile. “I think it’s rather fitting, don’t you?”

“Perhaps too fitting,” he grumbled.

“I thought that being from Ferelden, you would like Mabari.”

“I never grew up around them,” Cullen admitted, eying the beast that seemed to be listening to their conversation. “The first time I ever saw one was when I left Honnleath to begin my Templar training.”

“Strange. People in the Free Marches seem to think every Ferelden they meet is a...what’s the term? Dog Lord?”

He snorted, a derisive laugh leaving him. “Believe me, I know. It’s because Mabari are an important part of Fereldish history. The war dogs are one of the only reasons we were able to beat back the Orlesians when they tried to invade.”

Ferelden barked, wiggling his stub of a tail excitedly.

“Don’t take credit, dog. Those were your ancestors and they’re long gone.” Cullen admonished. Maker, he was talking to it like it was a person again.

They needed to leave. Now.

Days later the group had safely arrived at the edge of the ancient forest referred to as the Emerald Graves. Evelyn, being born and raised a Free Marcher from a city along the coast and a Circle mage, had never seen trees so large. Cullen had to save her several times from falling off of her horse in her wonder.

“Why do they call it the Emerald Graves?” She asked curiously. Her mount strode easily between Cullen and Cassandra’s.

The Seeker answered first. “The elves named it so. This was a burial ground held sacred to them before the second Exalted March on the Dales.” They passed by a crumbling statue of a wolf. “As you can see, their monuments have fallen into disrepair since the occupation.”

“Why would the Chantry lead a crusade against the elves?”

“Because they assumed them heathens and heretics. The groups didn’t get on well before then, regardless. A war was imminent,” Cullen replied.

“That’s a shame. So much history has been lost - just here alone. Where is this Fairbanks man we are to meet?”

“He should be just up the road.”

They passed beneath a low-hanging branch, a thousand broad leaves obscuring their view. When they’d reached the other side of the vegetation the location Fairbanks had referred to became immediately visible. They also had at least ten people with bows trained at their heads.

Cullen moved his horse forward, placing himself directly between Evelyn and the unknown men.

“We are with the Inquisition. Lower your weapons,” he demanded, hand resting on the grip of his sword.

“Inquisition?” One asked, seeming dubious.

“It’s about bloody time!”

Their meeting with Fairbanks was quick and to the point, but it was evident that their role here would be more than a simple scouting mission. In order to persuade the man and his charges to supply the Inquisition with information on enemy movements in the area, they would have to clear out several groups of rebels that had defected from the Imperial army. Not exactly a small task.

Upon Evelyn’s request they had traveled here with a very large contingent of soldiers, and suddenly Cullen found himself thankful for her foresight. While he suspected a big part of her decision was to have enough men available to recapture her brother in the Emprise, it would still work to their advantage now.

Sending Ian off with half of their number to capture a manor nearby and the rest of the force to make camp, Cullen, Cassandra, Evelyn and Dorian all began to work their way toward an abandoned mine rumored to be a hideout for the Freemen of the Dales, as Fairbanks had referred to the deserters. They’d only made it to a crossroads before Evelyn stopped her horse short, eyes roaming over the seemingly empty wilderness to her left.

Dorian also came to a stop, mustache twitching as he caught his lip between his teeth in a nervous movement.

“The wood is far too quiet here,” Evelyn murmured, sensing a gaping hole in the Veil nearby.

Cullen had brought his horse around to meet them, Cassandra in tow. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you sense it?” Dorian asked the ex Templar.

Without Lyrium Cullen’s abilities were deteriorating. He could no longer call forth a holy smite, dispel, or sense demons as Dorian and Evelyn could. Only at the excessive use of a mage or demon’s power could he perceive anything magically related, and he suspected that was only because he had done it for so long in the Order.

“No. What is it?”

“Definitely a demon,” Evelyn replied, urging her horse forward along the path leading away from the mine that ran parallel to a small creek. Unwilling to simply let her go off on her own, the others followed, aware as they ventured deeper into this section of the wood that something did not seem to feel quite right.

They gone perhaps half a mile when she veered off the side of the path, disappearing down the bank of the creek. Obviously worried, the others followed, coming up short when they saw the Inquisitor kneeling in the water beside the corpse of a dead woman. Cullen dismounted first.

“She’s been killed, but it wasn’t by any Freeman.” Evelyn’s fingers gently ran over the limbs of the body as she searched for any telling damage. It was dressed in a fine gown, one of her feet missing a silken green slipper. She couldn’t have been more than twenty.

Evelyn looked up, searching the highland above her for a moment and focusing on one spot in particular before turning to Cullen. “I believe this is the demon’s work. I want to look for it.”

Cullen’s instinct replied with an immediate and emphatic no, but just looking at her he was able to see that refusing wouldn’t necessarily stop her from pursuing this matter. “Why?”

“The Veil is extremely damaged here, and not because this place is a graveyard. This woman is not the first to die by this creature, I’m certain. If we do not stop it, it will kill again and I fear when it does it will only grow stronger. We need to put a stop to this.”

He grudgingly accepted that yes, they did need to put an end to the volatile machinations of the demon. “Do you think you can find it from here?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. I just need to follow the locus of power. It isn’t far.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Evelyn?” Cassandra asked, concern creasing the skin at the corners of her eyes.

“A good idea? No. It’s just the right thing to do.”

“Whatever it is,” Dorian spoke firmly, watching the same spot Evelyn had been moments before, “it was summoned.”

Nearly an hour’s time had passed when they finally stopped in front of an old rusted gate. The name above the iron bars read “d’Onterre”. It was evident this place had been vacant for some time from the way the vines of ivy sprawled haphazardly over the white-washed walls, thick tangles of hedges growing unchecked and uncut. One side of the gate had swung open and detached from one of its hinges. The whole facade was eerie and reminded Cullen of an overlarge tomb.

Evelyn and Dorian were the first through the bars, apparently unaffected by the ghostly feel of the place - or if they were, they were simply better at hiding it. He was reminded again that demons were not strange beings to a mage. It was something they likely encountered daily. Realistically, they had more experience with them than Templars did.

As the group walked through the grounds leading to the front door, Dorian commented that the deafening silence they all heard was one of the hallmarks of a tear in the Veil.

“Animals, anything with a sense of self-preservation, high-tail it out of an area directly exposed to Fade influence. It’s unnatural to them, and therefore a threat. Even the birds have gone,” he observed before Evelyn pushed open the front doors.

A thick, choking miasma of death swept out to greet them, knocking the very breath from their lungs.

“Shit!”

It occurred to Cullen that was the first time he’d ever heard Evelyn swear. She brought the high collar of her overcoat up to her nose and disappeared inside. He followed quickly behind, Dorian and Cassandra close on his heels.

They were met with a murky gloom only broken by the light shining through the open front door. It very quickly slammed shut behind them, drowning them in blackness until both Dorian and Evelyn summoned magelight. It did little to pierce the oppressive darkness.

“I do not like this,” Cassandra said slowly, quietly, as if the walls had ears.

“This way,” Evelyn called from across the foyer, Cullen remaining close at her side.

He was struck by how sure of herself she was in such a tense situation. It was as if she’d become a person he’d never seen before. Belatedly, he realized that this was Senior Enchanter Trevelyan, not Evelyn Trevelyan.

The next room smelled worse than the last, and only when Evelyn lifted the light in her hand higher did they see why. Countless bodies littered the space, pressed up against walls, strewn about the floor, and all in various states of decay. Corpses ranged from looking like withered skeletons to perhaps only week-old kills. Whatever was here had been working at its craft for a very long time.

Cullen knelt down beside one of the fresher bodies, his nose only wrinkling at the cloyingly sweet smell of blood and decay. “The armor this man is wearing matches the description of those Freemen Fairbanks gave us. Guess some were unlucky enough to get stuck in here.”

The shuffling of feet echoed down the hall to reach them as they were observing the dead.

“Lights out!” Evelyn whispered, and both she and Dorian extinguished their magelight to plunge the group into darkness.

The shuffling got louder, now accompanied with a labored wheezing noise that reminded Evelyn of a death rattle. She considered for a moment summoning her barrier just in case, but she wasn’t entirely sure if whatever was in the room with them would have sensed it and thereby pinpointed their location. It was a risk she was unwilling to take despite her unease. Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry.

Cullen’s hand found hers easily before he tugged her silently down into a crouch beside him. He shifted his body directly behind hers, his armored thighs caging her about the waist. The steel of his shield protected them bodily from the front. His body was tense, prepared to jump to their defense should the unknown creature find them.

The sound of dry, bare feet scratched against the marble floor of the room, slowing as it neared them. However it was breathing, it seemed to be having difficulty. Evelyn could almost hear the flapping of skin and sinew against the column of its neck.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the proximity of the sound. It drew closer still, and she could have sworn she felt the creature’s putrid breath fanning the hair against her face before it moved on.

The group waited until they could no longer hear the ambling sound of its hobbled gait before moving, though it seemed Cullen was reluctant to remove his shield from in front of Evelyn. His Templar instincts were in overdrive.

“Undead,” Dorian observed, summoning his magelight once more.

“And where there’s one, there are always more,” Evelyn replied.

“You are sure this is a demon and not a pack of blood mages?” Cassandra wondered, wanting to ensure that she knew what they were getting into.

Cullen shook his head. “Blood mages would let all of these bodies go to waste. I’d bet every Sovereign in the Inquisition treasury that we are dealing with a Horror.”

Evelyn seemed to consider that a moment before nodding in agreement. “The use of undead is compelling.” She frowned. “But something besides the demon is here. Something living like us.”

“If anyone in this house of horrors is still alive, color me impressed,” Dorian snorted, moving forward with Evelyn when she made to enter the next room.

“I don’t think it’s by choice,” She murmured, now standing in the lower level of a well-lit library. The skylight above revealed the noon-day sun shining brightly overhead. It was a stark contrast to the decrepit state of the manor they were in.

There was a faint groan of wood from behind them. Turning, Evelyn watched Cullen close the doors and slip a blade from one of the fallen soldiers through the handles.

He looked up, eyes focused and calculating. “That way it can’t follow.”

“And we can’t get out,” Dorian criticized. “At least not easily - say, when we are running for our lives. Seems almost inevitable at this point.”

The Commander didn’t even honor the remark with a response, his senses abuzz with the magic from his companions and the demonic taint in the air.

“These bodies are dressed in finery. They must be fro-wooah!” Evelyn swayed on her feet, catching herself against Cassandra.

The concern on the Seeker’s face matched Cullen’s. Dorian simply appeared curious.

Evelyn shook her head, blinking her eyes several times before pressing the heel of her hand against one of her eyes. “That was strange.”

“What?” Cassandra prompted.

“I just...saw a group of people dancing and I felt...angry.”

Cullen tensed. “Is it trying to possess you?”

She shook her head again. “No. I think something here is trying to talk to me, but I can’t exactly go into the Fade for a chat right now. I suppose it could be the demon.”

He didn’t look convinced, his eyes watching her carefully a moment. Seeming to find her still human, much to her amusement, he nodded toward the large staircase. It led to the upper floor of the library which was much better lit than the bottom. The better to see any coming threats, he’d reasoned.

The other’s couldn’t argue with that, preferring to not become target practice for an undead. Evelyn paused near a body at the top of the staircase while the others moved a short distance ahead. This one looked very old indeed. Expensive tailoring hung loosely on the husk of a man, masking a strange shape beneath the waistband of his breeches. She hunkered down, gently lifting the thing from the corpse. It revealed itself to be a small personal tome; a journal.

Her eyes widened as they passed over one of the pages near the end of the book.

“Evelyn,” Cullen’s voice called from across the library, rousing her out of her reverie. Quickly she stood, hurrying toward the group.

“That man was a mage. He was called here to help the d’Onterre’s daughter when she had begun to show her magic.”

She flipped to the next page, scanning the words quickly. “He was not...Maker…”

Cullen cocked his head, regarding her and the journal curiously. “What is it?”

She read a bit further on before she replied. “The d’Onterre’s didn’t hire him to help teach their daughter. They wanted him to somehow remove the magic from her without making her Tranquil.”

“Can such a thing be done?” Cassandra asked, a frown drawing a line between her brows.

“No,” Dorian spoke firmly, holding up a sheaf of loose parchment for Evelyn.

She only read the first few sentences before she dropped the book like it was on fire. “What on Thedas...what were they thinking?” Her voice rose in panic, straining with a measure of disgust.

The d’Onterre’s wanted to purge the magic from their only child alright, and they seemed to want to do it at any cost. When tranquility wasn’t an option, many resorted to other more grisly means to achieve a separation. It appeared that the owner of the journal had performed several procedures on the young mage.

One of which involved a thin wire being inserted into the ear far enough that it would come out the other side. Theoretically, this procedure was intended to spear the center of the brain, a place which many quack physicians thought to be the center or source of magical abilities. Evelyn had never heard of such an asinine procedure ever being a success. The notion that someone - another mage, no less - would subject a child to that torture made her physically ill.

Cullen watched Evelyn’s face transform from a look of horror, to disgust, and finally an anger so absolute he had trouble believing it was her own. He looked to Dorian for explanation.

“This young mage’s parents handed her over to a butcher,” he growled, as angry as Evelyn. “Despite having no notion of what he was doing, he decided to open up her head and have a poke around inside. I imagine it was such a surprise to him when that didn’t go very well.”

Evelyn threw the papers aside with the journal, a hand covering her mouth as she tried to swallow the bile that had risen in her throat. “He removed her control, and let the demon inside. Dimwitted fool.”

“Then this happened?” Cullen surmised, looking about the room. “No one ever listens.”

“I daresay the poor girl would have received more mercy from the Templars than her own family!” Dorian spat.

“We have to find her. She has to be the one still here,” Evelyn sighed, angrily rubbing her arms in an effort to purge the chill that had settled into her very bones.

“It’s surprising she made it after he scrambled her brains,” Dorian replied, but agreed with her.

“Why not just defeat the demon and be done with it?” Cassandra reasoned, not expecting the venom with which Evelyn would reply.

“Because the longer she lingers here the worse things will become. For now we are dealing with one demon puppeting an undead, but what happens when more find her and want to come through to our world? This tear in the Veil would be a far worse place than a Fade rift, I can tell you that. That’s not even mentioning that if her body is still alive here, her consciousness is stuck somewhere in the Fade.The demon would likely keep her close to leech from her power. She would be stuck in a never-ending act of dying.”

“We should branch out,” Dorian suggested. “Cassandra and I will take the East wing. You and Cullen search the West.” He pointed down at the deceptively cheery-looking courtyard through a nearby window. “Let’s meet down there in one hour.”

Cullen nodded. “A fair plan. Let’s go.”

Evelyn was already starting away, keen on finding the girl and ending this nightmare. What must it be like to be hated for what you are by your own parents and subjected to the whims of a madman? She couldn’t stomach the thought.

Cullen caught up to her, catching her around the elbow and pulling her to a stop.

“Slow down. I know you’re upset, but running off heedless of your surroundings may make matters worse. We already know there are undead here, but we aren’t certain of how many.”

She stiffened, turning to protest but it died on her lips when she viewed his expression. His face mirrored her concern and her anger, but he was much more calm than she could ever hope to be in a situation like this. She supposed that was a result of his training. Templars were able to emotionally remove themselves from their charges should the need arise - at least most of them.

“I understand. I just want to find her.”

“I know.” This time when they began to move forward they were doing so together.

Cullen and Evelyn sneaked almost soundlessly through the darker rooms of the manor, unwilling to alert any undead to their presence. It was only when they emerged into the narrow maze-like halls of the servant’s quarters that avoiding them became nearly impossible.

Cullen shifted himself in front of Evelyn, speaking to her in a hushed voice though he didn’t dare take his eyes off of the mass of putrid ambling bodies ahead of them. “We can go back or…”

Evelyn looked at him sharply. “Going back isn’t an option, Cullen. There’s no other way to get to this part of the manor without going all the way back to the foyer.”

“Then we make a run for it?” He dared a glance back at her to read the determined glint in her eyes.

She studied the corridor as well as she could, the lack of light making it nearly impossible to discern the doors at the far end of the path. “Straight ahead? We can bar the way behind us.” Her intense blue eyes swept over the shambling undead obstacles again. “If we go shield to shield we could easily push them out of the way. They aren’t exactly sturdy.”

Cullen smirked. “A glancing blow in this filthy place could be deadly.”

“I’ve got it covered. My shield is a bit more versatile than yours, you’ll remember.”

“Oh, I remember. I still have a bruised backside from when you proved that point.”

“So we’re agreed?”

“Let’s do it.” He stepped out from in front of her and allowed her to stand at his shoulder. At once his raised his shield and she summoned hers, drawing the attention of nearly twenty shriveled, rotting corpses.

For not having all of their physical parts in perfect working order the things were surprisingly quick. Cullen came up against the bulk of the group first, pushing back with relative ease while Evelyn kept their flanks guarded. One creature made to slip around behind them, but thanks to Cullen and Hawk’s training she spotted it, focused, and sent the thing sprawling to the opposite end of the hall.

The others suddenly began to follow suit when the warrior and mage managed to get through the far door. Cullen quickly shut it behind them while Evelyn kept it closed with the force of her magic. She could feel the undead pressing against it, and the old fragile wood shuddered with their combined weight.

Cullen hurried off, presumably to find something with which to brace the door.

Evelyn heard his movements come to a stop behind her as she kept her eyes trained on the weakened portal.

“Cullen?”

The wood sagged. Evelyn took a step back. It was going to break.

She looked over her shoulder, seeing him standing stock-still in the middle of the large high-ceilinged room. His shield hung loose at his side, sword tip pointed at the floor.

“Cullen!” She called louder.

The door groaned, gaps in the slats now revealing hollow eyes and spindly, grasping fingers.

Still the Commander didn’t move.

Hoping her shield would hold when the door wouldn’t, Evelyn turned and hurried to Cullen’s side. His eyes were unfocused, staring across the room at nothing and no one.

Tentatively, she reached out to touch his arm, but the contact did nothing to rouse him from whatever held him.

Could the demon have found them so easily? Could it have affected Cullen so easily? He was a Templar - an ex Knight Commander. Shouldn’t he have the safeguards in place to prevent such influence?

“Cullen!” She yelled again. Thinking of nothing else to do, she lashed out at him, kicking his armored shin with her booted foot. She only succeeded in stubbing her toes.

Still nothing.

The door finally gave way, a force of undead spilling into the room so far as Evelyn’s barrier would allow. She could not keep it up forever.

Scrubbing her face, she wracked her brain for a way to break him of this trance. It had to be something shocking; something that would pull his senses back to the here and now from...wherever he was.

Evelyn reached up, yanking out one of the fine hairs at the back of his neck. He twitched, but that wasn’t what she needed.

“Something he would freak out over,” She breathed. “No papers to mess up. No Mabari to irritate him. Maker, what do I do?”

Feeling herself sinking into a state of hopelessness as she tried to drown out the groans of the undead inside the room, a thought came upon her that, at any other time, she would have readily dismissed. Examining it no further, she walked up to him in two strides, lifted herself onto her toes, and pressed her lips to his.

She didn’t anticipate the sudden and violent reaction he would have when he pulled her body up against his, growling something broken and unintelligible in her ear. Nor did she expect the delighted little shiver that raced down her spine at such a sound. The reaction left her control over her magic stuttering, and it was by some miracle that she managed to shake herself and slip from his grasp long enough to erect the barrier around them once again.

Now the undead were close enough to reach out and grab her should her spell fail again.

Cullen shook his head, trying to beat back the onslaught of images and emotions that had overwhelmed him upon setting foot inside the room. It was as if this had all been a dream, and he found himself transported back to the holding cell Uldred had crafted for him during the uprising.

He had not expected to awaken so suddenly to the torrent of magic assaulting his senses, nor the feel of Evelyn’s lips pressed against his own. It left him a little dazed, thinking that the sensation was exactly as he’d imagined it.

Had he finally gone completely mad?

“Cullen, are you with me?”

He looked up, finding the source of the voice. Evelyn looked tired, but was holding the horde of undead at bay with her barrier. Looking around again, he’d realized the scenery had changed from what he’d last remembered. Were they not just in the corridor?

Cullen would think on this later, he decided. Squaring his shoulders he inclined his head to Evelyn. “I’m with you.”

“Thank the Maker. I thought I’d lost you there.”

He winced, but quickly shoved the feelings of guilt aside in order to better assess their situation. “Evelyn, if you can get the majority away from us, I think I’ll be able to get them off of our backs.”

“You feel up to it?”

She seemed dubious after the scare he’d just given her, and he couldn’t say he blamed her. The truth of the matter was, however, that they needed to get rid of all of these undead. How were they supposed to investigate this wing of the manor in peace otherwise?

“Come on. Just like we practiced.”

It was only a moment before she thrust her barrier outward around them, flinging the corpses to the perimeter of the room. Some were pushed so forcefully that they no longer were able to stand which suited Cullen just fine. It made his job much easier.

Evelyn retreated a few steps, placing her back to a wall so she could better survey the room. It was a large common area, the marble floor having lost its sheen from the copious amount of dried blood that was splashed haphazardly atop it. The woodwork on the walls suffered the same treatment, and she absently wondered if it was here that the demon did most of its dirty work. It’d certainly almost ensnared Cullen.

The man in question was making short work of the undead that’d managed to right themselves after her blast. He made it look all too easy. Many men, even those built like Bull, would have a difficult time wielding a blade like Cullen did. Each cut was intended to kill - not maim, not injure - kill. Gone was the flashy swordplay she’d grown accustomed to in Ostwick where Templars were trained to bring mages in alive if at all possible. Cullen’s moves were practical and efficient, intended to conserve energy while facing a resistant and deadly enemy.

Magehunter.

The description popped into her mind and seemed to linger as she watched him fight. She was not afraid. It was Cullen. Still, the notion that he had been specifically trained to hunt and kill those of her kind caused her to look at what she knew of his past a little differently.

Suddenly the idea that he would ever trust her as he had come to, at least in part, seemed absolutely ridiculous. Impossible, even.

The last of the bodies fell to Cullen’s sword, the final blow having carved the thing nearly in two. Despite the ease with which he dispatched the group, he had to stand a moment to catch his breath.

“You’re getting a bit scary with how well you do that,” he commented to her, gesturing toward the ring of broken bodies surrounding them.

“Scary?” she asked, offering him a small smile as she walked over to examine something on one of the bodies.

“Well, if it was Hawke then perhaps I would call it scary. Since it’s you…” He paused, biting down what he had intended to say. “You know what you’re doing,” he finished lamely, but if Evelyn had noticed she made no mention of it as she reached out to pick up something that’d fallen on the floor.

The large iron key seemed harmless enough, but as her fingertips brushed the surface of the cool metal there was a crack of static. With a pained gasp she snatched her hand away.

“What was that?”

“Bad energy. Lots of it,” she explained, clutching the still stinging hand to her chest. “We need it, though. If the demon handled this key then it must be important.”

“Do demons need keys?”

“No, but people do.”

Ah, the girl, Cullen thought. “Do you really think you can save her?”

“I don’t know, but I have to try. I can’t leave her lingering like this.”

Evelyn tore off a piece of fabric from her coat and laid it over her palm before once again attempting to pick up the key. This time there was no sound and no painful shock, much to her relief. Carefully, she dropped the bit of metal into one of her coat pockets.

The two took one last look around the room before moving on, now curious about where the strange energized key lead.

“Do all people tend to linger if they have been possessed by a demon?” Cullen asked, finding himself curious. Templars never bothered with learning the types and intricacies of possession. The general rule of thumb was that if it walked like a demon, talked like a demon, or looked like a demon, you were to kill it as quick as humanly possible.

“It depends on the demon, really. Those that make Horrors or Revenants, which I believe we are encountering in this case, tend to feed off of their hosts magical ability and life force. More powerful demons like Rage and Pride only need a human body as a vessel in which to dwell, and sometimes they even forego that,” Evelyn explained as they mounted a set of stairs to the upper floor of the room in which they’d just left. Perhaps there was something up here that would tell them more about this key.

“The Arcane Horror being the possessed corpse of a mage, correct?”

She nodded. “And the Revenant being the possessed corpse of a Templar. That seems to be a favorite. Maybe it has something to do with the irony. Most demons have a very strange sense of humor.”

“You’ve spoken to them?”

Evelyn glanced over at him, wondering only a moment if she should say anything. As personal a subject as this was for her, she felt that his desire to know more was based on simple curiosity.

“Always. My connection to the Fade is such that I come into contact with spirits and demons quite often.”

“While you sleep?” Cullen felt himself fight back a tide of protectiveness over her. She could handle herself. She’d been doing it all her life without his help.

“And while I’m awake, but yes, mostly when I sleep.”

“I do not envy you that skill.”

She flashed a smile. “Most don’t.”

Evelyn stopped just in front of another door, frowning at it a moment before turning the handle and stepping through. They found themselves on a small balcony perhaps two-dozen feet above the once well-manicured garden.

“Strange.”

“Hm?” Cullen hummed, casting a watchful eye about their surroundings.

“I thought-” She shook her head. “I could have sworn I felt something sinister through that door, but now we are here and I feel nothing.”

“This entire place feels sinister, Evelyn.”

“You’re just not sensitive enough.”

She heard the laugh rumble in his chest behind her at her small barb.

“You two! Day dreamers!”

The pair looked up as one, spying Dorian leaning over the railing of a balcony above them with his characteristic smirk.

“Cassandra and I have been following a paper-trail of clues to this door up here. It’s locked. Did you find anything in your wing?”

Evelyn’s heart started to hammer as adrenaline bled into her body. “I did! Hold on a moment! We’ll find a way up!”

Just a few minutes later Evelyn stood in front of a pair of locked doors with the key in her protected hand.

“Maker, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much negative energy in one place.”

“You can see it?” Cassandra asked, squinting her eyes a little in an effort to perceive what Evelyn and Dorian were looking at.

“Cassandra, darling, think of the biggest blackest cloud you’ve ever seen and now imagine what it would look like if you tried to shove it underneath a door. That’s basically what it looks like,” Dorian offered as Evelyn stepped forward, slipping the key into the hole. She turned it without hesitation, though everyone in their party tensed in anticipation of what they would find.

The lock released with an audible click seconds before the doors burst outward in an explosion of violent magic. Evelyn blocked the blast expertly with her barrier, but Cullen could still feel the acrid burn of the magic across his senses. It left a painful buzzing at the base of his skull and a foul taste in the back of his throat. It felt very similar to blood magic.

Though neither he or Cassandra could see the whirling mass of black negativity as their mage counterparts could, they did clearly notice the Arcane Horror that had appeared before Dorian. It lashed out at the Tevinter with boney fingers that it wielded like claws, screeching its displeasure when he shot it backward with a ball of fire.

It recovered from the use of magic quickly, spells largely ineffective against its kind, but Cullen and Cassandra were already closing in. The Seeker dispelled the area when it tried to invoke storm magic, and in its subsequent confusion Cullen thrust his blade up through the things’ skull. A dark, globulous substance oozed from the wounds, hissing and smoking on the Commander’s blade. He quickly dislodged the sword, flinging the acid-like blood away from his gloved hand and at his feet where it bubbled and etched pock-marks into the stone.

“Duck!”

Cullen and Cassandra barely had time to comply before Dorian launched a spear of ice at the Horror’s head where it quite cleanly pinned the creature to the wall. Cullen’s blade came down and severed the spine while Cassandra’s ran through its belly.

“I think that’s about as dead as the undead can get!” Dorian preened, inspecting his nails while looking very proud of himself.

It took a moment for Cassandra and Cullen to notice Evelyn was missing.

* * *

 

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” Evelyn breathed, trying to smooth the girl’s matted hair over the thick bandage wound about her head. It was encrusted with blood and bile as was the poor thing’s once fine nightgown. She was so small and so skinny that when Evelyn had first come into the room, she had mistaken her for one of the undead.

She certainly looked it.

Her grayish skin was stretched taut over her bony limbs. Little, if any, muscle remained on the tiny frame of the girl who had done nothing to deserve this but be born with magical talent. One glassy eye stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, the other was covered by the bandage concealing what must have been the wound from the procedures detailed on the parchment she and Dorian had found.

Cradling the girl against her, Evelyn began to rock her back and forth as she recited the Chant of Light. She could not leave her here like this. To do so would condemn her to a slow and lingering death and, perhaps, another possession. She could not - would not - allow that to happen.

“...I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade, for there is no darkness, nor

death either, in the Maker's Light…” Her words whispered across the child’s forehead. “...and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

She felt more than she’d heard Dorian enter the room, and when he knelt down beside her he spoke with a tone of voice that emphasized how seriously he was taking this. The normally frivolous man could be firm when he so wished.

“There isn’t anything else we can do for her, Evie, but give her a merciful death.”

She nodded, fingers smoothing back the soft brown curls again. “I know. I had hoped...but you’re right.”

His mouth was set in a grim line as he pulled a dagger from the sheath at his belt.

When they had emerged from the room no one spoke, and it was with a heavy, solemn silence that the group wound their way through the manor once more and out into the wilds of the Emerald Graves.

Cullen dared not utter a word, clueless as what to say to either mage. “I’m sorry” wasn’t good enough, and it never would be. There was a time when he might have viewed the child’s death as another vicious consequence of having the misfortune of being born a mage. Now, however, he only knew that it was a great loss for one so young to have her life ended so early. That the entire matter seemed to have been preventable only rubbed salt in the wound. The girl should have been protected, and it was the Templar Order that should have been present to do so. It was part of the reason for their founding, after all, and he felt shame that he neglected that truth once.

Evelyn’s silence endured even when they’d regrouped with the rest of the Inquisition’s forces. Thankfully their detour hadn’t made much of a difference as all of the tasks Fairbanks needed finished were handled expertly by Varric, Ian, Bull, and the rest of the men they’d parted with earlier that day.

“We were beginning to wonder if you’d been eaten by a troll, Curly. I told Tiny here that maybe we should take a look around for one choking on your armor.”

Cullen snorted at the colorful imagery the dwarf’s words conjured up.

“Did you see any?” Bull asked, seeming all too eager to encounter one of the foul-smelling giants.

“Thankfully no,” the Commander replied, keeping pace with the conversation despite what felt like a hundred soldiers clamoring to ask him even the simplest questions. It was after a new recruit asked him where the heated water was that Cullen decided he’d had enough. He needed to remove himself before he wrapped his fingers around someone’s throat and choked the life out of them.

Such poor behavior wasn’t suited to the Commander of the Inquisition - no matter how the spoiled young man deserved it.

He had wandered as far as the edge of camp before spying the little shrine just down the hill, light enough shining from within to appear welcoming. While his sense of duty frowned at such a distance from his charges, it also reasoned that spending a bit of time alone might help sort through all he’d experienced today.

A day with the Inquisition was never normal or average in his experience, but there were those that were particularly more trying than others. Today had easily been one of them.

With a word to Ian  to let him know where he was going, and leaving instructions with him to make contact with Rylen back at Skyhold, Cullen left for the shrine. The distance was small, trekked in only a scant few minutes down the steep hill, and when he arrived the warmth of a large fire burning in the brazier cut through the damp chill in the air.

The warm summer days were finally withdrawing from the southern continent, allowing the chill of autumn nights to prevail amid the dampness of the forest. It was peaceful here, and Cullen wondered if that sense of tranquility had anything to do with the elven magic that had once spread throughout this region.

Alone and out of sight of curious eyes, he allowed himself to sink down to the floor with his back against a wall. Despite his wish to never again think upon that house of horrors or the atrocities committed within, he found his mind returning to it again and again. The girl’s death seemed inevitable and, while saddening, was not the reason for his fixation on the subject. Evelyn was, Maker help him.

Cullen had thought he knew her well after all this time. Months had passed in her presence. He had thought all of his questions had been answered, but she had proved him wrong once more. The mystery surrounding her seemed to only deepen, and while he found himself fascinated by the task of unraveling her history, he also desperately wished to know her better.

What he’d seen at the manor didn’t so much surprise him as confirm his suspicion that the person called Evelyn Trevelyan was a complex and occasionally vexing woman. She balked at the notion of injuring an innocent - and sometimes even a known guilty party - but understood the necessity of punishment. She was kind and often shy, but when matters intensified, she was able to assert authority and keep a level head. She was determined, intelligent, and understanding. Violent action was never her first option. Always diplomatic, she would exhaust all of her options before accepting any negative outcome. While that outlook occasionally worked to her detriment, she was sly enough to reap some benefit from her actions, even if it was only finding a slim hint of a silver-lining somewhere no one else could see.

Evelyn put on a kind face when she could, but that did not stop her from expressing her displeasure or her sadness. In fact, her enduring smile made those darker emotions so much more apparent to those around her because she showed them so rarely. Perhaps that was the reason the unshed tears he’d seen in her eyes after she had left the manor tugged at his heartstrings so strongly.

Or maybe, he cursed himself, though there was no real upset behind it, it was because he admired her.

And why shouldn’t he? She was a better person than he was. She exemplified all things he wished he saw in himself.

Never mind that she’d kissed him and he wanted to do nothing more than kiss her in return. Fortunately, circumstance prevented that mishap.

He rubbed his eyes with his bare hands. Maker, he was in deep.

“Cullen?”

And it appeared the Maker also enjoyed a good laugh at his expense.

He opened his eyes to see Evelyn standing just inside the shrine, his forearms resting on his bent knees. The look on her face was, what -  concerned, hesitant, nervous?

“Need something?” His voice was soft, barely carrying over the roar of the fire.

She closed the distance between them, pausing a moment next to him before she lowered herself onto the floor beside him. Shoulder to shoulder now, she turned her eyes up to his and sighed. “Are we friends?”

Huh? Where did that come from? “Of course.” Were they? He thought they’d at least come to an understanding. He’d never had many friends to know for certain, but he thought he’d given the right answer.

He was rewarded with a small smile.

“Then may I ask you a question - one you have to answer honestly?”

On to her now, he thought a moment before nodding his head in assent. Hopefully he could lie fast enough if it was something too prying - but would he want to? He desired to know more of her, was it then wrong of him to deny her the means by which to sate perhaps the same curiosity she held about him?

“What happened back at the manor - when you froze?”

A loaded question, that. One which he’d sensed he’d have to give the answer to at some point. Maybe it would do him some good to get it off of his chest.

“It’s a long and complicated explanation,” he hesitated, but she made no move to rush him on nor did she look offended at his evasive introduction. “When I lived at Kinloch hold there was a mage I had...harbored an affection for. After her Harrowing she was recruited by the Grey Wardens and I did not see her until she returned several months later. By that time a blood mage named Uldred had usurped the authority of the First Enchanter and the Templar Order, leaving most inhabitants in the Circle Tower either dead or...changed. My friends died, both Templar and mage. I heard and saw everythingl. I had managed to evade discovery for nearly a week before they found me. Uldred and those of his inner circle robbed me of my defenses, withheld Lyrium from me, and starved me for...I’m not sure how long. They unleashed all manner of demons on me, keen on learning Templar secrets.” He snorted, finding that memory painful as well as amusing. “I’m not sure how I withstood their temptations, if I ever really did, but when the dust settled Solona was there to free me. I was so ungrateful - changed by what I had experienced enough that a spurned her friendship. I resented her leaving, resented mages, was fearful of the danger they posed, and I didn’t care to hear otherwise for nearly ten years. Memories from my imprisonment still hound me. You once asked if I ever slept? The answer is not if I can help it. When I close my eyes I feel trapped again in that place, and I do not ever wish to return to what I once was. I don’t want to be helpless. I don’t want to be dependent on a substance that drives you mad if you can’t have it. I don’t want to feel hate like that for anyone ever again. I joined the Order because I love people. I wanted to help them, and I wanted to stand for something greater than myself. I wanted to be a force of good in this miserable world.”

He blew out a tense breath, suddenly feeling the weight of her as she leaned her shoulder against his. It was a small measure of comfort, but it meant the world to him at that moment.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never really spoken about that before. I don’t mean to add more sadness to your day. To answer your question, I was pulled back to that moment in time. It was unsettling.” His apology came out in an uncharacteristic rush, but she didn’t mind it.

“Don’t apologize, Cullen. I asked a question and you answered.”  She inwardly wept for him. To feel such disdain for yourself after so long and after such a horrible experience was beyond her understanding. Yet here he was, Commander of the Inquisition: outwardly rough and rigid, but gentle when it counted. Lesser men had broken from slighter hardships.

“Thank you, Evelyn.” He murmured, staring straight ahead into the flames when a glint of metal caught his eye.

Turning to find the source of the distraction, he discovered the light shone off of the pendant she wore which had now flipped over to reveal a glass vial. “What’s this?” He asked, pointing at the necklace resting against her chest.

She looked down, as if she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about until her fingers closed protectively against the metal.

“It’s ah...a Chantry pendant my father gave me when I left to live at the Circle.” She held it up so he could see it better. “The vial on the back side is my brother’s phylactery. The Templars no longer needed it after he died, so Edward gave it to me.”

“What happened?”

Her weight seemed to sag against him now, her eyes downcast as she examined a crack in the floor. “I broke the rules that night. I knew it was Evan’s Harrowing because father had become just as edgy as he had when I went through mine. After the Templars had taken him to the chamber I followed. I knew when he was gone. I couldn’t hear a sound, but I felt his passing like the air was being sucked out of my lungs.” She bit her lip. “I think I was hysterical, I’m not sure, but I remember storming into the chamber and seeing father standing over Evan’s body with this look...I can’t even describe it. I knew he had been the one to do it, though. I was angry at him for a long time. As I matured that resentment had gone, but I still feel it sometimes when I miss my brother.”

“Your father did it himself because he loved your brother. He showed him mercy when another would simply treat it as job. It was all he could give him.”

She nodded, pale hair draping in loose curls over his shoulder. “I know, and I love him for it. It took my younger self a long time to see it that way, though.” Evelyn took a shuddering breath. It was a testament to how much the subject troubled her, if the white-knuckled grip she had on the pendant wasn’t evidence enough. “It makes me think of that girl today. Her life could have been so different if she’d just had parents like mine.”

He smiled despite the dark subject matter. “Evelyn, if everyone had parents like yours there wouldn’t even be a mage-Templar war.”

Her own smile returned to her lips. Where it belonged, Cullen thought.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Usually am.”

“Don’t get smug, Commander. You’ll recall I saved your bruised hind-end earlier today from a rather unpleasant terminus.”

“I doubt I could ever forget.”

He’d uttered his reply in such a way that she felt the heat rise from her neck to her cheeks. So he hadn’t conveniently forgotten - or chose to ignore - that small detail. She should have guessed as much. When you ran around kissing people they didn’t tend to forget it easily.

“What?” She asked, deflecting the cause for her quivering heartbeat with humor. “You don’t plan on becoming the mindless pawn of another Horror?”

“Would I need to?”

Wait. what?

“Are you implying what I think you are?”

He held his hands up in an innocent, placating gesture. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

In a huff she rose to her knees, turning to face him with a glare. Cullen simply stared back with that calculating amber gaze of his.

“Don’t you dare. If you mean to put yourself into that position simply to get me to k-”

He leaned forward, tentatively brushing his lips against hers.

“...kiss you again…” she finished, hesitating a breath before slanting her mouth over his in a proper kiss.

“It seems I needn’t bother,” Cullen murmured against her mouth, unsure if the feeling blossoming in his chest was elation or trepidation.

Neither the Commander or the Inquisitor noticed the lurking dark shadow observing them from outside the shrine.

Finally, Samson grinned to himself. Cutting the legs out from underneath the Inquisition would become an easy task indeed with this new development.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone for their patience, as this chapter has been somewhat delayed.  
> As a warning, I know that much of this chapter has gone un-edited, but I simply could not stand to look at it any longer. With mid-terms and deadlines I think I just overtaxed myself. That being said, I hope you enjoy reading anyway. :)  
> Please don't punch my face off.

Cullen woke up that morning with a start, aware that he had not meant to fall asleep at the shrine. His eyes flew open as he made to rise from his seat on the floor, but an unfamiliar weight in his lap prevented him from doing so. Evelyn grumbled groggily from her position curled against his chest, her cheek resting heavily against the armor there.

Events from the night previous rushed up to meet him, and he suddenly felt foolish and impulsive. He wasn’t going to deny that he’d been _thinking_ about kissing Evelyn for some time.The problem was that he had acted on it. Cullen had prided himself on being steadfast, certain, and cautious. What in Andraste’s name had possessed him to throw that all to the wind and act on his desires?

She stirred again, cracking one eye open and flicking a finger against the armor just a moment before she realized exactly where she had woken up. Evelyn sat up, spine straight and a blush staining her cheeks as red as the lining on a lay-sister’s frock. “Ah...erm-morning.” Her eyes shot to the surrounding forest which was still dark, but the sky that could be seen from beneath the canopy of the trees was beginning to lighten. “It is morning, right?”

Cullen desperately tried to ignore how pretty that blush made her look. Stomping mercilessly down on another urge to kiss her, he nodded. “We should get back. We’ve probably been missed.”

Maker, she hadn’t thought about that. What in Andraste’s name was Varric going to say about _this_ \- whatever _this_ was? Nothing untoward had happened. She didn’t even think either of them had considered it. It was just...nice to spend time talking about personal matters - ones which, given her and Cullen’s respective positions within the Inquisition, didn’t normally surface in regular conversation. Given her past, she felt that he understood probably better than even Cassandra what her experience in the Circle had been like. He also came from a large family, though he said that his siblings were still subsisting on the old family business of farming.

The kissing part was - Well, she didn’t know what to think about that at the moment, but she knew that she definitely wanted to pursue it in the future. For now, however, they needed to get back to camp before someone got the wrong idea.

Everyone got the wrong idea, and they spent the entire ride to Emprise du Lion trying not to look at one another.

Varric was the only person to actively try and squeeze details out of Evelyn, pestering her as their small army made a turn north. Strangely, the temperature began to drop no more than half a mile down the road.

“Common, Sunshine. You have to at least give me something!” The dwarf goaded.

Evelyn smiled, shrugging her cloak more snugly around her. She was look straight ahead when she answered him, eyes resting on the back of the Inquisition’s Commander. It was a detail Varric didn’t miss. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“I already _know_ what’s going on. You’d have to be blind not to, but seriously, give me some words!”

“Varric, you’re being far too nosy. Besides, nothing is going on. We only got caught up talking.”

“Talking. Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” He snorted. “Nah. With the way Curly has been spying on you over his shoulder it’s something way more than that.”

“We’re just friends.” Except that there was something else too - something neither she nor Cullen had tried or bothered to define. Varric didn’t need to know that.

“Pah!” He threw up his hands in exasperation, but thought a moment before snatching his notebook up and jotting something down, leaving Evelyn to her thoughts.

A sharp call from up ahead and the sound of horns rumbling the tree trunks drew her eyes away from where they stared at Cullen’s back and to the expanse of land just beginning to appear through the foliage. Spurring her horse, she drew up beside Cassandra for a better view. Before them lay a rugged and frozen landscape, a village settled at the very bottom of a river valley.

“Is there always snow this far down the mountain this time of year?” Evelyn asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Cassandra replied, raising a single shoulder in a shrug. “It does seem strange, but perhaps they simply had an early frost.”

“There’s the encampment.” Cullen nodded toward the small dark dots against the white backdrop of snow.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, trying to make out any discernible shapes in the seemingly amorphous mass. “Let’s go. I’m eager to see what news they have of Michael and the Red Templars.”

“You and I both,” Cullen murmured, following her with the rest of their forces down onto the valley floor.

They rejoined with the Inquisition’s army and the Trevelyans who were guarding what Evelyn thought of as one of the saddest places in the Thedas. The village had appeared in fine order from their earlier vantage point, but as they saw now it was in complete shambles. A whole, sound house could not be found such was the damage each structure had sustained.

“Blessed Andraste…” Evelyn breathed as she dismounted.

Aaron had hurried up to meet her, Cullen and Cassandra joining them as well. “I’m glad your forces are here Inquisition. This is far worse than we expected.”

Cullen stiffened, but seemed largely unsurprised. “How bad is it?”

“Aside from the villagers being snatched out of their homes at night by Templars and all of this destruction?” He gestured around him. “Pretty terrible. This is the last settlement in the region with survivors, and even then there’s only a handful.”

“Templars are kidnapping the villagers?” Evelyn sounded incredulous. She’d seen what the Red Templars were capable of, but surely not all agreed with this abuse of perfectly decent folk. They’d nothing to do with the Chantry or the fall of the Circle.

Aaron breathed a heavy sigh. “Our scouts tell us they’ve been meaning to bolster their numbers, but most of these people have never even held a sword. Something else is going on.  
“What of Michael?” She asked, growing more worried by the second.

He shook his head. “No sign yet, which I’m taking to be a good one.”

“What is the plan for reconnaissance? have the scouts recovered nothing useful?” Cullen asked.

“We’ve told then to keep their distance, but since you’ve arrived we now have the numbers available to knock on their front door.”

“You mean to storm their base?”

“That’s the nice way to put it. My father has been using much more colorful language since we’ve arrived here. He means to put down as many of them as he can before they move on to other villages.”

“Then in that we agree. Let’s see what he has planned.” Cullen gestured ahead for Aaron to take them to Lord Trevelyan, and soon Cullen and Cassandra found themselves bent over the crude map of the region arguing about troop movements with Evelyn’s brother and father.

The youngest Trevelyan, apparently not invited to the war council, made an effort to see to the needs to the villagers that were left - whether she simply brought them food and water or tended to their wounds. Dorian had even managed to stabilize a crumbling roof well enough that the house became a shelter of sorts. It was certainly warmer than sleeping in a tent outside.

Evelyn had also began to direct the Inquisition’s soldiers to fetch warm blankets, rations, anything they could spare to help. One group lashed a pair of horses to some debris to clear it from the town yard, leaving an area safe enough to walk in addition to allowing themselves more room to maneuver their supplies. She had lost track of the time when she’d finally emerged from the shelter, and made note of the sun beginning to descend behind the snow-capped mountains.

“They’re still at it,” Varric spoke up suddenly from where he leaned against the outer wall.

“I suppose they’re having trouble agreeing on a proper course of action?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think anyone anticipated a conflict this big or the situation to be so dire. Curly won’t leave until these people are safe, you know.”

She nodded, unable to help a small smile at the thought. “I know. Shall we go see what they’ve managed so far?”

“Sure beats freezing my ass off out here.” he straightened away from the wall and followed her at a sedate pace.

Torches had been lit and fit snugly into the frozen earth around the sawn stump of a once-giant tree that served as their table. All manner of maps covered the surface, some clearly having been transcribed by scouts earlier in the day, and one official piece stamped with the arms of the Orlesian Empire. Another sheet of parchment details enemy numbers as well as their ranks and where they were situated in an area Evelyn read as Sahrnia Quarry. That was an odd place for a camp, Evelyn thought.

She casually touched Cullen’s elbow, letting him know she was standing beside him. Cassandra stood on her other side, appearing quite thoughtful as she studied the information in front of them. The Seeker made a sound of disgust, turning away from the makeshift table to rub her aching eyes.

“Any manner of approach might work, but I am not certain you would call any of them “wise” or “safe”. The truth of the matter is that our forces will be descending into a well-fortified labyrinth of largely uncharted mining tunnels. We would be handing ourselves up to the Red Templars on a silver platter.”

“Which is why drawing them out might be the best course of action,” Lord Trevelyan reasoned. “With your numbers it would be an easy task to pick them off.”

“How do we plan to lure so many out into the open? Surely they are not that stupid?”

“Perhaps we need a fresh set of eyes. What do you think?”

Cullen’s question nearly startled Evelyn, and at first she’d thought he was speaking to someone else. When she glanced up to see he was looking pointedly at her, she offered him a grateful smile before gently lifting the map to slide it over to her side of the trunk. It seemed Cullen hadn’t forgotten that she desired to help these people too, and that her brother’s safety was just as much her concern as Aaron and her father’s - That, and she was pretty darn handy with a map.

“This is the whole of the mine?” She asked Cullen, circling the organic shape with her finger.

“That’s the surface map, yes. This is an incomplete sketch of the underground network.” He pointed at a couple long red strikes on the parchment he held then handed it to her. “Those are the entrances. They appear to match the surface account so we can assume it’s accurate.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, a study habit that hadn’t died from her days at the Circle. Her eyes flicked up to her father. He was watching her with an expression she’d never seen him wear before. Uncertainty? She couldn’t place it.

Only Cullen shifting his weight enough to subtly press his arm against hers drew her eyes back to the map. He meant to reassure her, having somehow discerned the unease with which she had walked into her father’s plans.

“You have an idea. Share it,” Cullen spoke firmly, having seen the small spark of revelation in her pretty blue eyes.

“Here,” she said quietly, pointing toward the larger surface map. The area she referred to was a long and narrow passage that opened up into a much larger circle. It was the lowest point at the surface of the mine, but the passage she indicated was tactically pleasing. “There may be a great number of Templars, but only so many can fit into this area to pursue.” Worrying her lip with her teeth, she pressed onward. “If we camp here, split our forces in two and have them circle around to this larger area, a small team could press through the bulk of their forces and lure them into facing this narrow place here. With their backs turned, our flanking groups would have the element of surprise, and might be able to put pressure enough on them to cause the remainder to flee. At that point they have nowhere else to go but underground. From there the Inquisition can monitor them, and we would have control over their escape.”

“So Sunshine is basically saying we send a couple really durable people in as bait to distract the infected Templars while the Inquisition outmaneuvers them.” Varric laughed and slapped Cullen on the back hard enough that the Commander nearly lost his balance. The warrior hadn’t even realized the dwarf was there. “That’s perfect for you, Curly! You love outplaying people.”

“I admit,” Cassandra sighed, “It is as risky as any of our other plans, but it has a better chance of success it's so...abstract. Afterward we may even hold an advantage - one which would allow us to ask after your son, Lord Trevelyan.”

Adair merely grunted his approval, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully as he watched his daughter flush at Varric's praise and shyly accept the Commander’s words of approval. It had been nearly a year since he’d seen his daughter, and she was transforming into someone he didn’t quite recognize.

Later that night when darkness had finally fallen Varric, Evelyn, Cullen, and the rest of their inner circle sat around a fire near the main body of the Inquisition forces. They said little, exhausted after their long day of preparation for the assault the following morning. While Evelyn’s suggestion had provided a decent foundation, those with more experience in war than she had gone over and refined their plan to their benefit, and now all that was left to do was wait.

She hoped it would work.

Varric- of course Varric - broke the silence. “Sunshine, how do you know so much about battlefield tactics? Doesn’t seem like the kind of curriculum the Chantry would allow a Circle mage.”

She tried to hide her blush. “Well, ah, I would usually finish with my studies before the other apprentices.”

“And?” Varric made a rolling motion with his hand in a gesture for her to continue.

“I might have persuaded several of the Templar recruits to let me borrow their war history books.” She bashfully twisted a stray lock of hair around one of her fingers. “They are much more interesting than the accounts in the Circle library. Half of those, I suspect, aren’t even real.”

Cullen laughed. “You’re probably right. It would give a mage ideas.”

She snorted. “As if any mage could hope to orchestrate battles like Ostagar and Starkhaven.”

“You studied yet you knew nothing about the Dales?”

“Apparently another thing the Chantry didn’t want in a mage’s hands,” She murmured, expression growing thoughtful.

“I have a few volumes you could borrow.”

Her face lit up like he’d just given her a Satinalia gift. “Really?”

Cullen smirked. “Of course. They usually just sit around gathering dust anyway.”

“You’ve done it now,” Aaron chuckled, sliding between Varric and Evelyn to take a seat, “Give her one book and she’ll hound you the rest of eternity for more.”

“Good thing I have such an extensive personal library.”

 

* * *

 

“Commander Cullen and I will be the first ones in.” Lord Trevelyan’s statement was assured and final as he addressed their inner circle. Cullen and Cassandra had agreed on this point, though the former was particularly loathe to relinquish his hold on the Inquisition’s army - his army. Gratefully, the loss of control was only temporary, and the ex Knight Commander understood that if any two people were to survive against a veritable colony of Red Templars it would be the pair of men who, at one time or another during their lives, had outranked each and every one of them. One did not become a Knight Commander of the Templar order by simply sitting around on his ass all day.

“Aww, Commander, you sure you don’t need my maul? Please tell me you need my maul.”

The corner of Cullen’s mouth twitched into a smile at the Iron Bull’s plea. Frankly, if their positions were to be reversed and he was ten years younger, he would have been feeling the same way.

“I need your maul, Bull, but at a later time - in case you need to crush a few Red Templars to get them off of me.”

The Qunari huffed, but dipped his head as a sign that he understood. The loud sigh that left him as he muttered “Everyone else always gets to be the bait.” was not lost on Cullen who tried to suppress a smile.

Cullen reached behind his back to take his gauntlets from their usual place tucked beneath his wide leather belt. They were gone.

“Wh-”

“Looking for these?” Evelyn asked, holding them out to him with a very guilty look on her face.

He narrowed his eyes on her, though the expression was no longer threatening as it had been when they’d first met. “What did you do?”

“Nothing too major,” She looked at the sky, the ground, anywhere but him as she scratched some phantom itch at her collar.

“Evelyn…” He drew her name out in a warning, very curious now as to what she had been up to with his armor. His finger brushed against the cool plate that would cover the wrist. The spark of magic he felt there momentarily startled him.

“I might have asked Varric to nick them from you last night so I could enchant them.” She said in a rush. “I figured if you were going to do this whole crazy run-in-blind-and-hope-for-the-best thing you might have use of some added protection.” Since I’m not going to be there, she wanted to add, and would have if her father and brother weren't scrutinizing them so closely. “It’s a barrier for you in case you lose your shield. It should survive a couple of really good hits from a heavy weapon. We had Bull test it this morning.”

It all came out in a rush she was speaking so quickly. It was as if she was trying to justify the thievery of his armor and enchanting it without his permission. He would have been miffed if he couldn’t tell that she was only acting out of concern for his well-being.

“Thank you, Evelyn.”

He tugged on the gauntlets and lifted his shield from his back as he turned to Lord Trevelyan. “Ready?”

“Let’s get a move on.”

Cullen and Adair were followed by their army until they reached the forward camp they’d specified the night before. It was there that the troops split in two. The first unit left with Cassandra and Ser Barris while the second followed Aaron, Evelyn, and her party to flank the mining complex. The Commander and Lord Trevelyan were left to take the most direct path which would lead them into the center of the complex and deep into enemy territory.

The stone-walled entrance into the natural canyon in which the mine was located rose a good hundred feet above their heads. It felt oppressive, intimidating, and very much the perfect backdrop for housing a cult of crazed Templars, Cullen thought.

“How did you come to be in the Inquisition?”

Adair’s question pulled him out of his inner observations of the landscape around them. So far they had not come across anyone. The complex was eerily silent.

“I was recruited in Kirkwall by Seeker Petaghast.”

“You had recently become the Knight Commander there, correct?”

“Yes, though once the Circle’s dissolved there was little need for me to remain. After I agreed to join the Inquisition I took those who would follow me and returned to Ferelden.”

“From what I understand there were very few who chose to not accompany you.”

Where was this line of questioning headed? “Ser?”

“I am merely making an observation of the loyalty you command. It is rare to find a Knight Commander so well-liked.”

“I suspect the majority of that had to do with my denunciation of Meredith. In the end she was a danger to everyone.”

Adair inclined his head toward Cullen, though neither man made eye contact. They were far too busy scanning their surroundings for potential threats.

“I knew Meredith when she was a young girl. I was saddened when I heard the account of her transgressions. She was so promising. Good heart too.”

“To clarify, we are speaking of Meredith Stannard?”

Evelyn’s father laughed. “The same, though you arrived under her command long after she’d begun to become a problem. Her extremist view of magic might have been acceptable for a Knight Captain or a Knight Lieutenant, but a Knight Commander must hold the interests of both mages and Templars under their care.”

Cullen didn’t want to even think about how much like her he had been upon his arrival in the city of Chains. Frankly, the notion sickened him. So he opted to change the subject. “Your son Edward is the Knight Commander in Ostwick? Evelyn has told me that your family maintains a Circle for those who wish to remain.”

“Correct. He was my successor and I daresay he’s had a better time of it than I did. He’s been through two rebellions and hardly bats an eye.”

Ah, Cullen thought that made a bit more sense. It seemed the Trevelyans had kept the power within the family. “What made your command a trial?”

Frankly, he’d been very curious about Lord Trevelyan since his arrival at Skyhold.

The old Knight Commander let out a hearty guffaw. “My _wife_! We never agreed on anything. She was a perpetual thorn in my side. Come to think of it we still don't, and she still is.”

Strange, Templar couples were usually not permitted to serve in the same unit. It was too much of a liability should something happen.

“She did not agree with your policies?”

“Does any First Enchanter? Sometimes I think that’s part of their bloody job description: exasperate the Knight Commander until he begins to have dreams of strangling you.”

Cullen blinked. Momentarily thrown. “Your wife is the First Enchanter?”

“Was.” Adair risked a glance back at Cullen, noting the man’s surprised expression. “Maker, boy, you don’t have to look so scandalized. That’s almost the same face I got from the Revered Mother when I asked to marry Louisa.”

Cullen couldn’t help the embarrassed flush of his cheeks that reached to the very tips of his ears. Well, around the Trevelyans he was learning something new every day.

“J-just surprised, is all. That...certainly explains a lot.”

“About Evelyn and the family? I suppose it does.” He paused a beat, seeming to consider his next words carefully. “She respects you a great deal, and Peter says you are trustworthy. I would thank you for looking after her all this time.”

Why did that seem to sound so final?

“It’s not a problem, Ser. Evelyn has become a much beloved member of the Inquisition.”

“So I’ve heard. I must ask, however, that you and your fellow advisers release her back to her family once we return from here. She does not belong in your Inquisition or any battle, political or otherwise.”

Cullen felt his blood run cold at the mere thought. Did Lord Trevelyan truly not realize how much his daughter meant to the men and women of the Inquisition - how much she meant to _him_? He struggled to maintain his professionalism, surprised when his response flowed easily from his lips. “I believe that should be a decision left up to your daughter alone, Lord Trevelyan.”

Walking slightly behind the older man, Cullen could not see the bare hint of a smile on Adair’s lips. The Commander had given the right answer.

 

* * *

 

 

The lock, old and rusted from the weather as it was, very nearly came apart in Varric’s hands without any help from his pick. It dropped to the ground with a soft thunk, and the door to the cage swung open with a groan.

“Maker be praised! You’ve saved us!” One of the villagers who had been trapped inside gripped Evelyn’s forearm as the mage attempted to hand her down off of the construct.

“Do you know why they were keeping you here?” Aaron asked, lifting a few children from the caged wagon. They shivered as the icy wind blew through their thin and tattered clothes.

All of the captives seemed to turn as one to look at one of their number who hadn’t survived. Evelyn had assumed the death was a result of the elements.

“Shit,” Varric muttered, eyes narrowing as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Red Lyrium. It’s...growing out of the body.”

Evelyn hurried over to see for herself, drawing back with a grimace when she saw the tiny red crystals peeking up from beneath the corpse’s fingernails and hidden in the line of its hair.

“That’s the idea,” one of the villagers explained. “The red stuff grows on the body and they mine it. Don’t know what it does, but they seem to be mad for the stuff.”

“You better hurry home before the snow worsens,” Aaron suggested, a few thick flakes catching in his hair and eyelashes and sticking against the dark blue cloak fit snugly around his shoulders.

They didn’t need a reason to run off as they did, the threat of the Templars recapturing them surely quickening their pace back to Sahrnia.

“That must be why they wanted the mine,” Evelyn deduced while Aaron motioned for their half of the troops to keep moving. They needed to be quick if they were to arrive on time at their appointed destination.

“Kidnap the locals, toss them in a mine to grow that creepy shit and then actually mine it. Yeah, sounds like the twisted kind of plot we would walk into,” Bull groused.

“There, there, Tiny. You’ll get to hit something soon enough,” Varric smirked, loosening Bianca from her holster on his back as they made their way further into the mining complex.

Not ten minutes later they were swarmed with Red Templars.

The snow had continued to fall from the sky, coming down in large flakes dense enough to obscure their surroundings.Thankfully, the red Lyrium growing out of the Templars made them easy targets in a field of white. While Varric, and Dorian held back with Evelyn to pick off their foes from a distance, Aaron and Bull began to drive the bulk of their enemies back to the center of the complex where Cullen and Adair were supposed to be fighting at this moment.

The thought made Evelyn feel uneasy. Weren’t all of the men they were fighting now supposed to be distracted by the duo they’d already sent in?

A frown puckered her brow, and without thinking she’d begun to hurry in the direction Cullen was supposed to be.

“Evelyn!”

She heard Aaron’s call behind her, but she didn’t look back.

“You know, sauntering around in the middle of a battle is usually my thing, Evie,” Dorian complained. he and Varric and followed her when she’d suddenly deviated from their plan.

She made a sound much too like one of Cassandra’s disgusted little scoffs. “Something is wrong, Dorian.”

“Are your Cullen senses tingling?”

The glare she gave him was absolutely of Cassandra’s influence.

Evelyn managed to forge their path simply by using her shield as a kind of battering ram while Dorian and Varric took care of the Templars that closed in behind them. It was risky, reckless, and she knew more than one person that was going to be furious with her, but if she had learned anything in her sheltered life it was to listen to her gut. When they had emerged, they suddenly understood why their plan had gone awry.

There was a second entrance to the underground tunnels, and Templars were pouring out of it. The second half of the army was actually driving their enemy to engage Aaron’s forces earlier than they had anticipated. It rendered using the narrow passage as a funnel completely useless.

She didn’t need to think twice about throwing up her barrier to prevent more Templars from coming through. She was putting herself at risk, relying on only Dorian and Varric to cover her. Thankfully Bull and Aaron arrived with the rest of their unit to save the day.

She’d let her guard down, focusing solely on her barrier just like Cullen had always told her not to. As a reward for her lack of attention, a Templar had managed to get the jump on her, swinging his blade in a half-circle at her midsection.

Aaron was suddenly beside her, bashing the Templar with his shield before running him through with his own blade.

“You okay, Evie?”

“Fine! We need something to block this door! There was a second entrance the maps didn’t show.”

He nodded, barking an order over his shoulder and soon they had successfully managed to bar the entrance without the help of Evelyn’s magic. She staggered a bit, feeling the sting at her ribs, but at the moment she was more concerned about how the rest of the Inquisition’s forces had fared.

“Sunshine, you sure you’re alright? You look little pale.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

Varric did not look convinced, but followed her through the crowd of rest of their men and women who were busy taking care of the straggling Red Templars. Evelyn hardly seemed to notice the amount of danger she was placing herself in, though whether the reason for it was borne from concern for her brother remained to be seen. The dwarf was still pretty certain she had been injured.

Their party of three hurried through the narrow passage Cullen and Lord Trevelyan were supposed to have occupied and emerged into a complete bloodbath. Dorian and Varric pulled up short, marveling at the sheer number of Red Templars that lay dead at their feet.

“Shit, Sunshine’s old man and Curly really know what they’re doing,” Varric muttered under his breath.

“Don’t forget Cassandra was here as well,” Dorian added. “That woman is utterly terrifying with a sword.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

At the mage’s comment they’d rounded a corner into an even larger open space, the walls surrounding them cluttered with scaffolding. The remaining half of the Inquisition’s army stood at the far end while three dark shapes were visible through the falling snow at the center.

“Michael!” Evelyn surged forward in an impressive show of speed, rushing toward what proximity would reveal as Lord Trevelyan, Cullen, and the Seeker herself.

Cullen stepped forward to block her way.

“You don’t want to look, Evelyn,” his words were quiet but firm.

She ignored him, dodging around his body to see what had her father so silent.

Lord Trevelyan knelt next to Michael as the young man’s breaths came out in labored wet gurgles. Her father quietly recited transfigurations, not looking up from his vigil even as she dropped to her knees beside him.

“Michael?” She asked again, the sound barely registering as more than a timid disbelieving cry. Evelyn could not let this happen. Not again. Reaching out a trembling hand, she called on her power through the Veil. She would heal him. She had to. She’d already lost one brother.

Adair reached out and caught her wrist, shaking his head. “He is dying, Evelyn. Let him do it with dignity.”

She twisted out of his grasp, tears beginning to prick the corners of her eyes. “But I can save him, daddy. He doesn’t have to die!” Heedless, she reached out again, fingers nearly skimming over the gaping wound in his chest before she was quickly snatched up off the ground.

“Don’t touch him!” Cullen warned her. Evelyn didn’t see the small Red Lyrium crystals lining her brother’s exposed skin in her panic.

“Let me go!” She struggled mightily against Cullen’s vice-like grip. She almost broke away until he banded his arms around her torso to keep her from moving. “Cullen let me go! I can save him!”

When she threw the entire weight of her body into another failed escape attempt she began to sob in earnest. “Please! Please let me help him!”

Everyone was silent. No one responded to her pleas. Even Cassandra stared dutifully down at Michael’s rapidly deteriorating condition, not risking a look up at Evelyn. Barris and the others waited respectfully nearby.

The weighty silence seemed too final - too much like they were all simply giving up. If she could somehow…

She reached again for her magic, intending to bathe the area in a healing aura before the familiar embrace of her power was abruptly torn from her. The sudden absence left her nauseated and disoriented. Coupled with her own physical pain, the oppressive aura forced her body to simply shut down and black out. She went limp in Cullen’s arms.

The Commander cast a sharp glare behind him where he had sensed the origin of the Smite. Ser Barris had begun to draw his sword when they both realized it was Aaron who had performed the invasive action. Nearly the entirety of his unit shadowed behind him.

Adair stood abruptly, eyes narrowing on his eldest son. “That was entirely unnecessary!”

“She was drawing on her magic while she was emotionally compromised. She could have hurt someone,” Aaron argued, wrongfully assuming that he had done nothing wrong.

Cullen lifted her body to carry her properly cradled in his embrace, at the moment uncaring of the reasons why Aaron had violated his sister’s trust. When he looked down at her sleeping face, he noticed a dark stain smeared over the chest of his armor. Shit.

“She’s wounded!”

“Hold onto your breeches, Commander.” Dorian appeared beside him, hovering a hand over Evelyn’s torso that began to shine with a faint blue glow. “She was running around with this like a chicken with her head cut off earlier. She will be fine now.”

 

* * *

 

The journey back to Skyhold was almost unbearable for Cullen. It was obvious that the Trevelyans were in the worst way, though Lord Trevelyan did his best to conceal his sorrow over having to put a second child to the sword. Aaron grieved as well, but spent most of his time busying himself with menial tasks to keep negative thoughts from getting the best of him. Evelyn wasn’t speaking - to anyone.

He observed her from a distance as she rode ahead with Cassandra. Her posture was rigid, her eyes cold. Cullen couldn’t say he blamed her.

Shortly after Dorian had healed her their forces left to return to camp. A small unit was left to secure the mine, ensuring that any remaining Red Templars would be swiftly and efficiently dealt with. They had also removed their dead from the battlefield. Michael’s body was unsafe to travel with back to the Free Marches. Lord Trevelyan feared that transporting him would only spread the taint of the Red Lyrium further, and after what he had seen he was not keen on repeating the experience. Ultimately it was decided that they would burn Michael’s body along with the other men and women of the Inquisition they could not carry back, and so it was that night they had lit a funeral pyre and held a modest service for their fallen.

Still recovering from the effects of a very over-powered Smite, Evelyn had missed the entire thing which only caused her greater distress upon awakening. Cullen was very nearly certain she was going to confront her brother, but instead she had slipped into a tight-lipped and frigid silence.

Perhaps what wounded the Commander the most was that she would not speak to him either, and that every time she looked his way her eyes had lost their warmth and sincerity, accusation now burning in their azure depths. He had lost her trust, and he found himself floundering for a resolution.

He could not deny that in the week it took them to return to Skyhold he had begun to sorely miss her. It had frustrated him to realize that he had come to depend upon her easy manner and good company to defuse the worst of his melancholy. The physical symptoms of his withdrawal were simple enough to deal with, painful as they so often were, but the emotional toll it took on him was much harder to tackle. A different beast altogether, it lay in wait until his most vulnerable moments - usually as he slept. Having Evelyn around took his mind off of all the negativity, and replaced the terrors with happier things. He didn’t know how she had managed to worm her way into his heart, but now that he had lost her confidence he was achingly aware of her absence.

The worst feeling of all was when she stood across from him at the war table the evening they had returned home, and though she was close enough to reach out and touch he felt like she was a thousand leagues away from him.

The candles had burned low by the time their meeting had concluded, leaving Cullen with the task for preparing for another tour outside of Skyhold. Hawke had sent word in his absence, detailing the location of an old fort in the Western Approach she wanted him to look into. In addition to the Champion’s specific request for his aid, Dorian had also approached him with locations of Venatori mages he suspected of having a hand in the dealings in the Emprise. There was so much work to be done, and Cullen’s window of opportunity was quickly closing.

He needed to find her.

Excusing himself, he followed the very faint sensation of her magic to the gardens. She’d been doing a terrible job lately riding herd on her emotions. He didn’t fault her for that in the least. She deserved to be able to mourn.

He saw her standing beneath the arbor, the garden vacant as the beginnings of a drizzle began to fall from the sky.

“Evelyn?” Cullen approached her slowly, uncertainty of her reaction eating at him. Sweet Andraste, what had she done to him to reduce him to this? He once again felt like the gangly, awkward, stuttering teen he thought he’d left behind all those years ago at Kinloch Hold.

She turned to face him, wiping furiously at her eyes. “Am I needed?”

 _Maker, yes._ “No.” He shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he thought to press on. “I wanted to ask how you fare.”

That same sorrowful look entered her eyes. “I’m fine.”

Evelyn Trevelyan was a piss-poor liar.

Cullen sighed. “I understand what it’s like-”

“You do _not_ understand. You have _no idea_ what this feels like.” She struggled to grab ahold of herself, striving to keep her voice calm though she rather felt like bursting into tears.

“Evelyn, I-”

“Go. Please, just go.” She turned back around, wiping at her eyes again. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

The next morning saw the Commander and his second leaving the gates of Skyhold before the sun rose in the sky with a fresh contingent of soldiers following in their wake. Evelyn hardly noticed their absence.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wonderful comments and all of the kudos, my friends.

There was nothing quite like the feeling of being cooked alive inside one’s own armor.

The unrelenting sun bore down on Cullen’s dark plate from the cloudless sky, reminding the Commander exactly why he hated this Maker-forsaken place with such passion. Nothing but sand and blue sky surrounded them in all directions. Only when they reached a small outcropping of rocks did they chance to stop and enjoy the shade.

Cullen didn’t particularly enjoy the lull in activity. Since his very badly handled conversation with Evelyn the night before he left Skyhold, he had the misfortune of bearing a conscious and subsequently a desire to return to that painful encounter in his head every time he had the chance. While he hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise, he still felt as if he had failed in conveying his feelings on the matter. He hadn’t meant to soothe her with meaningless platitudes like so many others. He simply wished to offer her support - to lend an ear, a person to rage at, even a shoulder to cry on if she so chose.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried to will away the sudden ache in his chest at her rejection. It had been returning with a persistent and annoying frequency the further he drew away from Skyhold. Cullen had never been so open or honest with any of his previous paramours, and so this brand of pain was completely unfamiliar to him. He had felt disappointment, sure. Sadness, maybe a time or two, but never this too-powerful, crushing weight bearing down on him.

Maker, he’d been ten different kinds of fool to think two people who were so different could hope to have... _something_ together.

“Commander,” Rylen called from behind him, “a rider is bearing down from the north.”

With a frown Cullen drew up beside his second in command and looked in the direction the man had pointed.

“Glass,” he said evenly while holding out his hand. All trace of his previous emotional turmoil forgotten for the moment. Rylen placed a well-worn, but functional spyglass in the Commander’s upturned palm. As he extended the scope and placed it to his eye the small dot on the horizon suddenly revealed itself to be a single rider galloping out in their direction.

He collapsed the spyglass and returned it to Rylen, giving the all clear. This man was not a threat - at least not to the Inquisition.

A short while later Peter dismounted from his horse with a grin, one which Cullen found himself reflecting in kind. Like Evelyn, Peter’s easy nature made it easy to hold him in high esteem.

“It’s good to see you, Cullen!”

The two men approached one another, clasping each other’s forearms in greeting before turning toward the center of camp.

“Likewise, Seeker Trevelyan,” Cullen replied, to which Peter almost wrinkled his nose at the stuffy title.

“I thought we were past this.”

Cullen and Peter had exchanged a few letters since their agreement after the events at Therinfal, but the Commander had always struggled to separate Peter from the Seeker title he bore. Having been raised a Templar since childhood, Cullen had always understood that the Seekers were his superiors and therefore meant to be treated with honor, respect, and difference. It was a difficult frame of mind to break away from, much to Peter’s amusement.

“I apologize,” Cullen began with a smirk. “Perhaps I forgot our arrangement after being exposed to your father for a few weeks.”

Peter laughed, ruffling a hand through his hair to get some of the sand out as the two men walked into the shade. “I thought they might have finally gone to Skyhold. While they trust my word, father has always been over-attentive when it comes to Evelyn. That and I’m sure the business with Michael didn’t help things much.”

Cullen tried to hide the wince that name brought about, but the reaction didn’t escape the Seeker’s notice.

“Tell me what happened. Father outlined the mess in a letter, but he spared me the particulars.”

“Before or after Aaron smote your sister?” Cullen asked, a touch of anger still lacing his words.

Peter’s brows hit his hairline at his surprise. “Shit.”

“I feel the same way.”

With the army rested, watered, and fed, they began to march again toward the location Hawke had indicated. The scouts before them had already made contact with the Champion, and Harding had secured a safe place for them to camp for the night once they arrived.

After their conversation about his siblings, Peter had fallen into a contemplative silence for much of the journey as he penned a letter. When he had finished, he folded the parchment only twice and tucked it away beneath the leather chest piece of his armor.

“When you conclude your business here, I will return to Skyhold with you,” he said finally.

Cullen nodded. He’d expected that. “Of course, but I warn you that I’m not sure when we will be returning home.”

“Who has command of your armies while you are away?”

“Seeker Cassandra.”

Peter hummed, seeming satisfied with that answer as they passed through terrain that now began to look less like an endless sea of sand. Formations of rock began to crop up in greater numbers until the landscape shifted into a red-stoned canyon. When they had finally come upon Harding and her scouts, Cullen recalled that he had probably never been so delighted at the sight of a featureless pool of water ever before in his life.

He had stiffly dismounted from his horse and began to rifle through his saddle bag when he heard her behind him. As always, she was hoping to get the jump on him.

“Have a nice trip?”

He merely glanced over his shoulder at her, then cast an eye around at their fairly desolate location. “It had its moments.”

“You mean the ones before you had to get out of that fur ruff you’re so fond of?” She flashed a smirk, remembering a comment she had made about his dress armor being ridiculous and impractical.

Cullen secured the leather bound journal in his hand and turned away from his horse to walk up to her. “The same. I find I miss it already.”

She pretended to look offended at his sarcasm, the shocked o-shape of her mouth flowing into an easy smile. “The snark returns. What would the Revered Mother have to say about that?”

“Three lashes and kitchen duty for a week.”

She laughed outright, turning to follow him as he passed her to consult Harding on their situation and send off a letter to Skyhold to let Cassandra and Leliana know they had arrived without incident in the Approach. He sighed inwardly, thinking of the last letter he had written, and hoped Evelyn would discover it because he had lacked the conviction to place it into her hands himself. It was cowardly, but the nightmares had been particularly bad that night.

“Cullen, I have a letter for you,” Peter spoke, striding toward him with a hawk shifting to balance on his wrist.

The Commander frowned. He supposed it wouldn’t be all that unusual to find a missive waiting for him, especially if Harding had let the others know where they were to be stationed. Still, he got the feeling that this message was not from Leliana, Cassandra, or even Josephine. In fact, he sensed the small thrill of magic shoot to the base of his spine that told him this particular bit of parchment had been in Evelyn’s presence.

All at once he felt both excited and nervous as he took the tri-folded letter in hand and slipped it into his gauntlet. If it was concerning their last conversation, he would not wish to read it in present company.

 

* * *

 

 

_Evelyn_

The name was written on the front in the assured, crisp and formal script utilized by Cullen in all of his official correspondence. There was nothing particularly unusual or alarming about it, save that she could not recall having ever received a letter from him in all their acquaintance. Indeed, she had never been so far removed from his presence to require it.

Breaking the wax seal, pressed into place by the ring he bore on his forefinger, she unfolded the missive and hungrily devoured its contents despite the trepidation coiling round in her gut like a snake waiting to strike.

_Do not be fearful of this letter containing a reprimand in any fashion, nor worry that I think any less of you for acting out your grief. I assure you now because I know it is in your nature to dwell on confrontation like Ferelden gnaws on his bone._

_All levity aside, I wish to enlighten you on subjects which you came to miss during our time away from Skyhold, and I hope that by revealing these matters to you, you will cease to blame yourself so completely for what transpired in the Emprise. May it never be said that I have a way with words, so please disregard any phrasing that would seem irreverent or otherwise offend you. I assure you from the bottom of my heart that it is not intentional._

_The first matter which I would lay to rest would be to recount the death of your brother, Michael Trevelyan, at the blade of your father. Lord Trevelyan and I happened upon Michael in the thick of the battle, and as such we were unable to distinguish him from the other enemies that had assailed us. While it may pain you to read this, know that Michael did engage us, and as a result was struck down by your father’s hand, suffering a grievous injury. When you had come upon us we had already determined your brother’s identity. We had given him his last rights and were simply waiting for the Maker to take him. You will recall that no one moved to heal him, and that was because he had already become infected with the tainted Lyrium. You could not save him. He was too far gone, and for that you must not blame yourself. He died well._

_The mention of this brings me to the second matter I must address. My restraint of you when you tried to heal Michael I know was unwelcome. It would have been my preference not to have done so, but I could not risk you exposing yourself to the infection. It is selfish of me to admit that I could not lose you - not like that. If you had become infected, and had I needed to strike you down, I honestly doubt my present ability to do so. I do not know what it is between us, but it is enough that your end would be my undoing. I would not see you harmed, even if it meant taking your from your brother’s side as he lay dying. For that I humbly beg your forgiveness - both for my selfish desire to keep you and failing to protect you from the events that transpired at the hands of your brother Aaron._

_Finally, I am aware that missing Michael’s funeral has left somewhat of a void in you that you have yet to fill. If you look in the bottom left drawer of my desk, I have something there for you that I believe may help. Perhaps you may also see fit to keep it for a memorial service of your choosing, so you can say goodbye._

_I understand what it feels like to never have that chance._

_I hope this letter finds you well. Remain safe, and please help yourself to my books. I do not know when I will be returning home._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

Evelyn folded the letter and dropped her hands to her stomach, eyeing Cassandra at the desk who regarded her with poorly veiled curiosity.

“What did it say?” She asked, unsure of what Evelyn’s silence meant.

The two women had come into his office in an attempt to gather the notes he had been taking on a potential operation in the Exalted Plains. In their attempt to sift through the inordinate number of correspondence, Cassandra had accidentally knocked a tome to the floor that had lay half-buried beneath the papers. Upon lifting it, a letter slipped from between its cover and pages bearing Evelyn’s name. Thinking nothing of it, the Seeker had handed the item to Evelyn, who at first looked horrified and then downright curious. Cassandra had known something was going on, but it was not her business to pry. Nevertheless, it did not stop her romantic heart from fantasizing over the contents of such a well-hidden letter; secreted away between the pages of a book titled The Orlesian War Machine - Glory 2:10-20.

“An apology,” Evelyn finally replied, thumbing the edge of the paper absently as she held it against her stomach.

Cassandra made a face. “What for? You were the one who didn’t want to see him.”

Evelyn sighed and nodded, well aware that she handled that particular situation very poorly. Cullen was her friend, and she had treated his offer of comfort as if he had been the reason for her brother’s death. She understood now, she thought, glancing again down at the letter.

Michael could not be helped. Even if she had successfully managed to heal him he would still have been under the influence of Red Lyrium, and perhaps no longer himself. It was a kindness to let him die, and everyone but her had seen that. She still would not forgive Aaron, however. Thankfully, her father didn’t seem all that concerned over her spiteful treatment of her overzealous brother.

“He is worried what I think of him. He didn’t say as much, but that is what he meant.”

Cassandra pursed her lips. “How so?”

Evelyn sighed, thrusting the letter into the Seeker’s hands. “Read for yourself.” There was no helping it now. Nearly half of the Inquisition thought they had spent the night together anyway and Cassandra was hardly the gossipy type.

“Huh,” she said a moment later, sliding the paper over the surface of the wooden desk back toward Evelyn.

“Is that all?” The mage’s mouth kicked up at the corner in an amused smirk. Part of her appreciated that Cassandra was taking this as seriously as she was, but another found the woman’s concern endearing and rather adorable. Whatever Varric said of her, she was not unkind.

“ _Are_ you two pursuing a relationship?” she finally asked.

“Maker, no. I mean...I don’t know. We never got the chance to talk about it.”

“Huh.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “What is it? I can see the wheels in your head turning.”

With probably the world’s best poker face, Cassandra plucked up a blank sheet of paper, quill and pushed them toward Evelyn along with the inkwell.

“Write him back.”

She frowned. “Write him back? And tell him what, Cassandra?”

“Whatever comes to mind.”

“There is an awful lot on my mind and none of it should be put to paper, I can assure you of that.”

The Seeker’s brows rose as she let a small laugh escape her at the thought. “Then perhaps you should start small.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Cullen_

_Friends forgive each other, right?_

_Evelyn_

The brief message was scrawled out on the very middle of one of his most expensive sheets vellum. Were it anyone else writing him, he might have had the inclination to box their ears; however, since it was Evelyn, he simply decided that he would be happy she deigned to contact him at all.

His eyes skimmed over the page, catching something he didn’t see on his first examination. At the very bottom near the edge of the paper there was another line of writing. So the profligate use of his stationery had been deliberate.

_I appreciate that you even thought to keep his ring. I would apologize to you presently, but my thanks cannot be conveyed by putting words to paper._

Well, at least her reply had assuaged the worst of his fears. She did not hate him - at least it didn’t appear so.

“What’s that dopey smile for, Commander?”

She snatched the letter out of his lap before he could hide it, her calculating eyes pursuing the contents before a knowing little smirk danced at the corner of her mouth.

Cullen wanted to groan in frustration. Why the Maker sent Hawke to test his patience time and again was beyond his understanding. This was borderline torture. He blew out a tense breath and scrubbed his bare hands over his face in a vain attempt to scour her from his presence.

It didn’t work.

“I had been hearing rumors,” she began, that damnable smile still in place, “but I had dismissed them because I was under the impression you were _far_ too prim and proper to have any _extracurricular activities_.”

“Shows how little you know of me,” he replied with a grimace.

Then suddenly she plopped down in front of him, legs crossed and chin resting in the palm of one hand while the other held out the folded letter as if in some kind of peace offering.

“Do tell.”

He took the letter, tucking it beneath his breastplate before he narrowed his eyes on her far too expectant expression.

“Absolutely not.”

She appeared disappointed for all of two seconds before she she turned and called to Peter who, Maker only knew why, was already walking toward them. In her hand she held a piece of vellum remarkably similar to the one she had given…

_Fuck!_

“Marian, you do know that Peter is-”

“Evelyn’s overprotective, I’m-going-to-threaten-everyone-who-makes-her-cry-under-pain-of-death, and drop dead gorgeous older brother? Yup.” She grinned. “I need some entertainment. Unless, of course, you wish to tell me the story yourself.”

He didn’t want to tell her anything. He _wanted_ to wrap his hands around her pretty little throat. He could not, however, expose Evelyn in such a manner. So it was with great reluctance that he began to recount his minor dalliances under the probing and incredibly uncomfortable direction of Hawke’s questions. The woman could give Cassandra a run for her money as an interrogator. The entire situation was made even more awkward when Peter did join them, seating himself on the ground next to Cullen while he nibbled on a piece of bread.

“Wait, wait wait,” Hawke held up a hand for emphasis, frown firmly in place. “You’re telling me that you and Solona-?”

Cullen snorted. Really? “Is that so surprising?”

“Yeah, actually. I mean, she has a type and you’re it, but I wouldn’t have guessed you - Mr. Straight-laced, rule abiding, model Templar - would go along with it.”

“Like I said before, Hawke, you know very little about me.”

Peter frowned at the hunk of bread he held to his lips, brow furrowing in his own curiosity. “Do you two know each other very well?”

“Not by choice,” Cullen answered quickly, leaving Hawke to simply grin at his peevish expression. “The events of the Kirkwall Rebellion made it necessary for us to work together.”

“Mm, yes, I’m familiar with that. I was one of the Seekers tasked with observing Hawke and her friends for a few weeks after the Qunari invasion.”

Cullen took much pleasure in the shocked and nervous expression that had suddenly replaced the smug self-satisfaction Hawke usually wore.

“You _spied_ on me?”

“Of course we did. We weren’t sure if you were just a really lucky, really powerful apostate or if you actually had some agenda outside of reigning in loose Templars and putting down a few mercenary groups.”

Her sharp gaze would have gutted him if she had anything to say about it. “I did have a bone to pick with the Chantry, at least as far as the Divine was concerned.”

“The Seekers never thought anything of the sort, matter of fact.” He chewed a piece of his bread, looking thoughtfully up at the darkened sky. “You were getting by, barely, and it was clear the only person of your acquaintance with any intention of doing the Chantry harm was Anders. You’re shit with a knife, you know that?”

Hawke visibly bristled at the painful memory of slipping that dagger between Ander’s ribs. His betrayal had elicited such an acute and pervasive kind of rage in her that she didn’t need to even think twice when he asked her to end it. One less problem she had to deal with.

Despite her anger, she had faltered. The wound had been fatal but sloppily executed and he would have taken ages to die. She didn’t care enough to stay. She simply left him there to die in the slop and muck of the street - as if he hadn’t saved her worthless ass a hundred times.

“Yeah. I know. What of it?”

“Fixed that problem after you left.”

“Huh,” she thought, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders. Ander’s suffering had always weighed heavily on her mind. “Thanks, I guess...err..”

“Peter Trevelyan,” he spoke, biting the bit of bread between his teeth to extend his hand to shake hers. She responded in kind, though she wasn’t any less guarded around the Seeker.

“Marian Hawke, but of course you already know that.”

Peter chuckled, and Cullen relaxed enough to take a drink from his water skin now that he knew Hawke wasn’t going to do anything he would regret.

“So about this massive crush you have in the Inquisitor, Altar Boy…”

Cullen choked on his drink.

Void take the damned woman!

 

* * *

 

 

“If we live I’ll entertain the notion of speaking to you about my sister.” Peter spoke quietly, standing with Hawke and Cullen as they eyed the rather intimidating edifice of the keep they were about to take. A firm breeze picked up enough to stir the hair that had fallen loose from Hawke’s bun against her neck.

Cullen grimaced. Peter hadn’t said a word to him on the subject after Hawke had tightened the proverbial noose around his neck. If anything, that made the Commander more uneasy than if he’d just come out and confronted him on the matter. Cullen was very good at tackling a problem head-on, but this shifty-eyed business was irritating him.

“How about we just focus on living in a general sense for the moment?” he replied.

“That sounds blessedly simple to me,” Hawke broke in with her snark, one hand resting on her cocked him while the other held her staff. “You two done talking or are we going to crack some skulls?”

“I think I’m beginning to like you!” Peter shouted over the sudden wind that had swept down from the high country over the parched sands of the Approach. It roared in their ears as millions of grains of sand tossed against each other, bouncing into their hair and beneath their armor.

“May the Maker have mercy on your wretched soul, Trevelyan!” Cullen called back.

Hawke only answered with a toothy grin.

Getting rid of the exterior guard was a simple enough matter. Surprisingly, the Venatori were a predictable lot with limited battlefield experience. Much to Cullen and Hawke’s amusement, they got all kinds of nervous when the Commander rushed into their personal space. They would focus so much on the big intimidating man with the armor that they neglected to keep an eye on the nimble little mage picking them off with several well-placed fireballs. Peter assisted as well, but for the moment he was tasked with getting into the keep undetected and raising the gate for their forces.

Cullen swept his blade low, removing one of the legs from the warrior who’d thought it’d be a good idea to engage him one-on-one. Really, were mages in Tevinter the only people who knew how to fight? He must write Dorian and ask.

A deep groan and the sound of metal screeching against metal alerted the Champion and the Commander to Peter’s success, and Cullen briefly assessed the situation before ordering his company to charge. Though he’d only brought a small number of skilled men, it was better than having so many soldiers one could not tell his enemy from his friend in the mayhem.

They entered the keep, filling the courtyard with the sounds of battle. Clashing steel, rending flesh, and the thump of bodies hitting the ground surrounded them, but to the seasoned warriors among them, these gruesome sounds were the familiar notes of a song imprinted upon them at a young age.

Seeming to desire confining the Inquisition to the courtyard, more Ventori and their soldiers rained down on them from the upper levels of the keep. Cullen met them fearlessly, bashing one with his shield while striking out at another with his sword. A familiar smoky scent overrode that of the blood running at his feet as a warm body pressed against his back.

Hawke leaned against him heavily. “Cover me!”  He busied himself with blocking another blow, keeping his shield angled over her while she uncorked a flask with her teeth and poured a potion down her throat.

“Good?” He called.

She nodded in response and dodged away again, leaving him to the remainder of the mages.

Peter had struck down more than his fair share of Tevinter supremacists though he appeared as if he was merely out for a stroll. The rogue leaned against the wall of the battlements above the gatehouse, several bodies bleeding out around him as he fired an arrow into the throng. Most of his attention was fixed to Cullen and Hawke, ensuring that the pair weren’t surprised by those garishly clothed excuses for assassins. He thought he had taken care of most of them until one simply popped into existence beside him.

Despite his lackadaisical posture the Seeker sprung into action in the blink of an eye. Jumping back and away from the assassin, he freed two throwing knives from his belt and launched them at his foe. Surprisingly, they missed. Miffed that his skills were being challenged, Peter hooked his bow around a nearby sconce and drew another throwing knife in addition to a very large dagger. The assassin didn’t wait for him to challenge him with any witty one-liners, much to the Seeker’s disappointment, and simply struck out a series of blows against him with the needle-like weapons they carried in each hand. Belatedly he wondered where he could procure such things. He blocked the flurry of strikes easily with his vambraces, each blow resulting in a small blue flash as the clash made contact with his armor. Enough was enough.

He retaliated with precise and forceful jabs. One strike and the left hand buckled under the force of the blow, another left his right side open enough that a third blow pushed the whole of his very large dagger straight into the assassin’s gut. He jerked his hand, drawing the blade across the midsection before using a booted foot to shove the body off of his weapon.

The Venatori staggered backwards, not seeming to understand the entrails he was leaving behind. His knees hit the low wall separating the high walkway from the courtyard below, and in his stupefied state he lost his balance and toppled over the edge.

Almost too late Peter realized the body’s trajectory might crush someone below, and he hurried to peer over the wall, taking his bow in hand. He snapped the arrowhead off of the shaft with his teeth, aimed, and let the blunted bit of wood fly.

There was a yelp, followed by a quick jump, then the heavy thud of the Venatori’s body.

“Who the fuck shot me in the ass!?” Hawke practically screeched, rubbing her backside with a horrified expression - like she’d never been shot with an arrow before.

Peter didn’t see what the fuss was about. He blunted the strike and saved her from a rather undignified death despite probably leaving a few splinters in her bottom. Foolishly perhaps, he  grinned down at her and raised his hand in a small wave.

“Here!”

Still cupping her abused bottom, she glared up at him. Suddenly Peter wasn’t worried about the Venatori assassinating him, but Marian Hawke.

“How ‘bout you get down here so I can return the favor?”

Baiting her was just too much fun, especially when she wielded enough sarcasm for the entire army.

“Promises, promises, Hawke!”

She snarled at him, looking for all the world like she was going to singe him into charcoal before Cullen stepped in.

“We can deal with Hawke’s ass later. We have a fort to capture. Peter! Get to the upper level and help with the forward party. Hawke and I will meet you there.”

Both Hawke and Peter rolled their eyes at Cullen, though Peter acquiesced and deftly scaled the scaffolding leading to the top most floor of the keep. Meanwhile, Hawke complained loudly about her superficial injury.

“Oh my god, there’s blood!” She wailed, pulling her hand away from her bottom to reveal a more substantial amount of blood than Cullen initially guessed. She also had one pronounced limp. Perhaps she wasn’t complaining without reason.

Heaving a small sigh, he resigned himself to his fate, stowed his shield, and held his hand out to her.

“Come on.”

She looked dubiously at him, starting to walk under her own power before realizing she was not going to get very far very quickly without some help. Her ego was feeling a lot like her ass at the moment.

When she didn’t respond immediately Cullen narrowed his eyes on her. “Or I can leave you here and send the guy who shot you in the ass down later to collect you if you don’t want _my_ help.”

“Damn it. Fine,” she groused, allowing him to slip his arm around her waist.

Cullen didn’t so much assist her as carry her up the steps, but she was grateful just the same. He was alway, and had ever been, a knight in shining armor - the kind of hero fairy tales were built around so little girls everywhere had  some crazy perfect standard by which to hold all others. Despite her love for Fenris, Cullen has always been a subject of fascination for her, and perhaps once she had been enamored by his geniality toward her despite his knowing she was a mage. Sure, he was prickly as a bloody porcupine back then, but he had slowly begun to mellow out since the last she’d seen him. Evelyn was a damn good influence.

“Since we’re alone,” Hawke began suggestively, shamelessly wagging her eyebrows up at the Commander.

He bit back a groan at the thought of the questioning to come. Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone?

“Have you told her you loooove her?”

He scowled. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it hasn’t come up.”

“So you do.”

He had half a mind to drop her and leave her there, but revealed his answer through clenched teeth. “Y-yes. I think. I don’t know.”

Hawke’s lips quirked upwards in a knowing smile. “You do. Don’t think too hard about that shit or you’ll lose time. Trust me, happened to me and it was a bitch.”

Cullen seemed to relax a bit. “Fenris?”

“Mhm. This may come as a shock to you, Commander, but I’m a big dumb idiot when it comes to romance.”

“That makes two of us,” he replied, feeling comfortable enough to smirk at that.

“Have you kissed her?”

He immediately stiffened again, a flush creeping up from his neck and into his cheeks. “Ah...well…” He sighed. “Maker’s breath. Yes.”

“Aannnd?”

“Can we stop?”

“Yes, can we?”

Both Champion and Commander turned to find Peter shadowing them, nearly toppling over in their surprise like a pair of guilty schoolchildren.

The Seeker only fixed them with a steely gaze before walking past, leaving Cullen almost positive he was going to hear it when things had finally settled down. Here he was hoping to find time to write back to Evelyn.

Hawke snorted at Peter’s attitude. “Well at least one person here is a gentleman!” She sniffed indignantly, poorly playing the part of a waspish noblewoman. Clearly she was pulling on some of her mother’s failed attempts at teaching Marian manners.

Cullen didn’t comment, but she forged on ahead and succeeded in making him even more uncomfortable.

“For the record, Cullen, if you were banging my sister, I’d be cheering you on.”

In an instant the Commander turned a rather charming shade of red from his neck all the way to the very tips of his ears.

“Damn it, Hawke!”

 

* * *

 

 

The keep was secured with no trouble at all aside from the initial battle. It was a defensible and sturdy fortress once held by the Grey Wardens who had named it Griffon Wing. The reiteration of the initials of both the names wasn’t lost on him. In fact, he might have said it was a bit clever.

Following the influx of the rest of the Inquisition’s forces into the keep, Cullen had begged off from dinner with his men to find some peace. His own office, complete with _locking_ doors was certainly one thing he missed back at Skyhold - one of _two_. Unbidden and unwanted, his melancholy descended upon him with force as he looked out from the battlements to the empty desert. Night had fallen, and only the faint shimmer of the sand caused by the sliver of the moon established where land merged into sky. Maker, why did the color of the sky remind him of her eyes?

He had it bad. Really bad.

Cullen reached around his arm to unbuckle his gauntlets, thinking he might lose himself in the task of cleaning his bloodied armor when his bare thumb brushed over the enchantment Evelyn had placed. He drew in a sharp breath, having not expected the sudden shock of feeling her magic against his senses.

Hesitantly, he drew his fingers across it again, smiling faintly as he did. The sensation became familiar when he repeated the action once more.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Peter’s voice drew him out of his reverie, and Cullen looked up with a small, forced smile.

“Want me to be honest or tell you what you want to hear?”

The Seeker raised his brows, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s go for honesty, since I trust you.”

Cullen sighed audibly. “I miss her.”

Surprisingly, given Peter’s earlier behavior on the matter, he seemed remarkably relaxed at Cullen’s admission.

“I do too.” A pause. “Mind if I ask how this all came about?”

The Commander shrugged, turning to face the other man as he leaned his back against the stone wall behind him.

“I can’t name the time or place.” He smirked up at the Seeker. “Honestly.”

Peter was a very astute man, and with just one look at Cullen while the Commander spoke of his sister he could tell he was smitten with her. Strange, he thought, that at first he’d thought they hated each other. Perhaps that was why he had been so shocked when Hawke threw Cullen under the carriage, so to speak.

“And what of her?”

“Well she didn’t slap me when I kissed her, so I assume that means the attention was welcome.”

Peter let out a short laugh, rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand. “She would have too, I think, had she not wanted you to.”

They stood companionably for a small while before Cullen spoke next. “Here I thought I was going to be interrogated at knife point and warned away from your precious little sister.”

“I could, if that would make you feel better, but I trust you Cullen. It goes without saying that if you do end up hurting my little sister I will be the very last thing you see.”

The Commander scowled. “Fair warning, then.”

His thumb brushed against the cool metal of his gauntlet again, and he took a small measure of comfort in the familiar wake of Evelyn’s magic.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where is that?”

“Griffon Wing Keep?” Leliana asked, her expression indulgent as she gazed at the Inquisitor over the war table.

The Spymaster circled a location on the map of Orlais with her finger near the carefully written label stating “The Western Approach”. She further explained the Inquisition’s location by tapping the edge of her fingernail down on the edge of something called “The Abyssal Reach”. That certainly didn’t sound happy - or particularly safe.

“That’s a long way away,” Evelyn mumbled. Truthfully she was a little dismayed that Cullen was so far from home, but reminded herself that he wasn’t some green recruit. The man could clearly take care of himself. Still…

“His report states that two days from the postmark he and Hawke will investigate the Wardens. Apparently they are to meet someone named Stroud.” Cassandra’s voice filled the room from where Cullen usually stood. “They seem to have also picked up your brother.”

“Peter?” That seemed to perk Evelyn up, Cassandra noticed.

“Yes, Evelyn. He’s going to return with them to Skyhold once their business is complete.”

“Hopefully they finish up soon, then,” She smiled to herself, keen on seeing her brother and having a chance to properly apologize to Cullen for her behavior. She couldn’t bring herself to do it on paper. That just wasn’t personal enough.

She had more trouble than usual sleeping that night, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. The sensation had grown in intensity since her arrival at Skyhold. After a year, things were finally getting...interesting - depending on your point of view.

Getting to her feet, she wrapped herself in her robe and headed down the stairs into the hall which was completely deserted at this hour but for Ferelden sleeping by the throne. The weight of the atmosphere had lifted considerably now that she had come down from her tower, and she was not keen on returning anytime soon.

Evelyn padded down the stretch of stone along the dark runner that flowed the length of the hall, veering off into the library where she spied Solas. The elf was still awake, and regarded her with some measure of surprise when she appeared at such a late hour.

“Good evening, my friend. Is there something I can help you with?”

As ever, despite his kindness and the fact that she really did like him, something about Solas didn’t quite add up to her.

“I can’t sleep.” She paused a beat, considering whether she should be forthright with him on this matter. If anyone would understand her connection to the Fade, it would indeed be Solas. “Have you encountered many demons outside of the Fade having not possessed a body? Without a fade rift nearby, I mean,” she added at his curious look.

“No, I can’t say I have. What do you mean?”

She recounted her experiences with whatever had been inhabiting her room with her. By the time she was finished he wore a frown and, unusually so, looked concerned.

“You haven’t taken any action against it?”

She flushed. She hadn’t, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. “I’ve tried to make contact in the Fade several times, but I can’t seem to find it. That or it won’t approach me, which doesn't even make sense. It keeps asking me the same question.”

Solas cocked his head, seeming to consider something. “Sleep here tonight.” He gestured to the couch on the far end of the room. “I will help you tomorrow when you are better rested. I think it would be wise to bring your father as well.”

He handed her a folded blanket from beside the couch, snapping it out over her when she sat.

“I wish you would have come to me earlier about this, my friend.”

She offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to having so many talented people around who actually understand me when I speak.”

He smiled in return, nodding his head before moving off to his desk where he sat and resumed the book he had been pursuing. Still unable to sleep, Evelyn pulled out her own bit of reading material.

The parchment was well-worn from its journey, but the handwriting was legible.

_Evelyn_

_Your brother is fine company, but he isn’t you._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

His letter was just as brief as the one she had sent him, but the words he had written conveyed a very clear message to her.

I miss you, it said.

Same here, she thought with a small sigh.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Thanks for the wonderful comments :) You really make my day and keep me consistent with my weekly updates!

She had been restless since she had turned him away. Evelyn lay awake, tossing and turning in her bed. Of course she was furious with him, but if she knew anything about Cullen and his behavior, it was that he never took any action unless it was absolutely justified. He commanded incredible self-discipline, and so it was with this in mind that she tried to puzzle what happened at the mine out.

She was not an idiot; some empty-headed nattering fool who raged without cause and loved without reason. She was an intellectual, and demanded of herself an understanding of those around her.

Questions first, emotions later. It had been her mantra since Evan had died.

That being said, it was not as if she  _didn't_ feel anger, sadness, joy, or any other strong emotion. Obviously she did, but what purpose would raging against something already settled serve? It would serve no one. It would solve nothing.

She grumbled to herself and she rose from the mattress, swinging her feet over the side of her bed. If one wanted to understand, one had to ask questions.

She would seek out her father first. She didn't trust herself right now around Aaron.

Evelyn shuddered at the suffocating memory of his smite driving the magic from her body. Unprepared was one word to describe her reaction, though who was ever ready to be so...so violated? Magic flowed through her veins like her own blood. It was a part of her just as much as her hair and skin, and the mere thought that Aaron could cut her off so abruptly out of fear forced her to reexamine the nature of their relationship.

She loved her family, she thought as she padded down the stairwell from her quarters, but she had not seen many of them for some time. Aaron was so much older than her that they had little in common growing up. Despite the age difference, he had been an attentive and dutiful older sibling - at least until she had left for the Circle. It was strange to think that hindsight could be so vivid, as memories came to her in a rush of her first year of confinement.

She saw her father often enough, as he was then the acting Knight Commander. He had always hovered, and the others knew well enough to say not a word about it, but Aaron seemed to resent their familial ties. He would never say as much to either she or Evan, but they could feel their brother's affection drawing slowly away from them as time passed on and they came into their skills. Edward had trained elsewhere, moving to the Ostwick Circle only after their father had stepped down. He was kind, but held the firm demeanor of someone who had seen both the best and worst of magic. Peter...Peter had not taken well to the Circle or Templar training. She had heard some of the recruits saying that he was so liberal with his views of mage freedom that his trainer had nearly thrown him out on his ear for the way he defended their rights as people. Evelyn had long since come to terms with the reality of her situation, but Peter  _never_  let go of his resentment of their father for shutting away his two youngest siblings. His anger had only intensified after Evan's death, at which time he abandoned the Order before taking his vows and had gone to train as a Seeker instead. As far as she knew, while Peter and her father still acted civil with one another, their difference in opinion left them strangers. They never mentioned their estrangement to her, and she was quite happy being ignorant of it and thinking that her family was still as she remembered it when she was a child.

But she had to face the reality that everything was no longer perfect. She was not the same, and her brothers were no longer the carefree, boisterous group of youths that had terrorized the countryside in Ostwick.

Then Michael…

Evelyn bit back a sob as tears welled up in her eyes. He'd only ever wanted to find his place in the world. That his quest to find himself would lead him to such a grisly death ate at her mercilessly. She knew there was little she could have done to dissuade him as they had not communicated since before she had left for the Conclave, but the guilt remained.

She had just entered the main hall, wiping the tears from her eyes when she heard a voice she was not prepared to listen to at present.

"Evie, it's late. What are you doing up?"

Aaron stood quietly near the door to the under-croft looking for all the world as if he  _hadn't_ assaulted his own sister. She scowled at him through her tears, ignoring his question as she moved to brush past him. Where was her father?

"Evie?" He reached out to pull her back, the gentleness of his touch belied his true feelings for her.

She quickly stepped away from him, heart beating in her ears. "Do not  _touch_ me!"

He looked almost taken aback by her reaction before he pursed his lips in a thin line. "Are you still angry?"

Still angry?  _Still angry?_  She couldn't take it anymore. Everything this week leading up to this exact moment had finally culminated into some kind of massive, unalterable wave of hatred. The unease of Michael's affiliation with the Red Templars, the horrible situation at the d'Onterre mansion, Cullen's kiss, those poor people in Sahrnia who needed their help, her brother's death, Aaron's betrayal, and then her guilt over pushing away the one person who could have given her answers had she been level-headed enough to ask, welled up inside of her like a great storm and she could not hold it back.

Aaron, sensing the sudden call of her magic had attempted to smite her yet again, which only fueled her anger. One could only imagine his surprise when she blocked the voiding spell with her barrier - something she did not think she could do until now.

Very quickly her brother's look of consternation morphed into that of fear as she reached deeper into the Fade for even more power to fuel her rage.

"Evelyn." Her father's voice rang out from beside her with a gentleness that did not align with the charged atmosphere inside the room.

The tapestries on the walls shuddered from the force of her power, chairs rattling on the floor loud enough to wake all of Skyhold.

She narrowed her eyes on Aaron, unable to decide how exactly she wanted to punish him for his complete lack of feeling.

"Evelyn," Lord Trevelyan spoke again, placing a hand on her shoulder. The gentle touch jarred her somewhat, but it was enough that she saw -  _really saw_ \- the terror on her brother's face.

Maker, this wasn't what she wanted. This wasn't who she was at all.

Slowly, the furniture stopped moving, the tapestries stilled, and the storm of magic she had stood at the center of faded. She and Aaron stood still a moment, just looking at one another before she blew out a tense breath and turned, walking pointedly away from the scene.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry, she chanted to herself, breaking into a run for the Chantry as tears began to fall. When she had vanished, Lord Trevelyan turned on his eldest son with wrath in his eyes.

"Leave her be. She's dealing with enough without your paranoia rearing its ugly head."

Aaron had the indecency to look offended. "Paranoia? Did you see what she was going to do to me?"

"No. I saw someone who was emotionally overwrought and attempting to give you no less than you deserved. A fellow Templar would have broken your damned nose over that, Aaron."

"She could have killed me!"

He took a threatening step toward his son, hand on his sword grip. "Save it, boy. You've provoked me enough for one day."

Thoroughly chastened, though still a little irked by the censure, Aaron bowed stiffly to his father and made way for the barracks.

That was one reason Adair had passed his eldest over for the position of Knight Commander in Ostwick. The boy was simply too hot-headed and irrational to hold such power over so many lives.

Pushing his annoyance for Aaron aside, he quickly focused on finding Evelyn. That outburst had been extremely uncharacteristic for her, though she was completely justified in her anger. If she wanted to take a shot at Aaron he would be more than happy to stand by and let her, though judging from what he'd sensed moments before he doubted the boy would be able to defend himself very well.

All anger aside, he was finding this strife difficult to bear. It seemed as if his family was falling apart, and he'd no one to blame but himself. If he'd been a better father perhaps Michael and Evan would still be alive.

He quickly shoved that guilt down, unable to deal with it now. The horrific pain of losing a child was bad enough, but to be the cause…? It was a wonder some days he could look in the mirror let alone live with himself. As a Templar he did not take his responsibility lightly. He had sworn his heart and soul to the Chantry to protect the innocent from harm, but at what cost? How many more of his children would he have to kill before the Maker was satisfied? His god's silence was cruel.

Adair found Evelyn in the small Chantry. Upon seeing him she launched into a swathe of apologies. She didn't mean to frighten Aaron, she didn't want to disappoint him, she had been remiss in her duties and was a terrible daughter. He didn't want to hear any of it. Enough was enough.

Lord Trevelyan simply wrapped his daughter in a tight hug, holding her against him like he used to do when she was a child and he wept silently with her at how screwed up everything was, had been, and probably would be.

Puffy-eyed and grumpy as a wet nug, Evelyn wandered over to Cassandra in the training yard after the sun had risen. She and her father had a long talk - about Michael mostly. Lord Trevelyan had found Michael after the fighting had subsided only by identifying the small pin of the Trevelyan coat of arms on his armor and his family ring. By then her brother had been beyond help despite the Red Lyrium that had begun to take over his body. Speaking of it was painful, but necessary, and by the end of it they'd both felt emotionally exhausted. He looked old, she thought as she managed a smile for a soldier she'd passed on her way. It was with some dismay she realized she would not have him with her forever.

"You did not sleep.  _Again_." Cassandra observed when Evelyn came into view. She sheathed her sword, turning on the Inquisitor with a frown, though it was borne of concern quite unlike the frowns she bestowed upon Varric.

Evelyn sighed, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. "No. I didn't. It's been a long week."

Cassandra's eyes softened, though the frown was still in place. She knew Evelyn's feelings precisely in that moment. She'd felt them herself after Anthony's passing.

What the Inquisitor needed was something to take her mind off of it for a while. She needed a purpose.

"Come. I need to sort through Cullen's things. I believe he was in possession of a notice from Grand Duke Gaspard."

"Cousin to the Empress of Orlais?"

Evelyn's innate curiosity was already shifting her thoughts to the task at hand, Cassandra noted with approval.

"The same. I believe the Inquisition may benefit from an alliance with him."

A short while later the two women found themselves inside Cullen's office sifting through a ridiculously high stack of parchment.

"How he manages to go through all of this in a timely fashion is beyond me," Evelyn observed while leafing through one stack.

Cassandra began to move another when she knocked a book off of the laden desk. Moving to retrieve it from the floor, she was surprised when a bit of parchment fell from between the pages adorned with Evelyn's name.

Really thinking nothing of it, the Seeker handed the paper to Evelyn who stiffened immediately upon reading its contents.

The letter had said nothing her father hadn't already explained, Evelyn reflected when she had finished, but it was very kind of Cullen to try and set matters straight and try to elaborate on matters he thought she would find most important. Considerate as always.

At first she hadn't understood why Cullen would keep her away from her brother. She had been angry with him, furious even, but after she had finally worked everything out between her father's explanation and Cullen's letter she knew he'd held her interests at heart.

She was still nursing a bit of upset over his role, but how could someone fault such sincere motives? She'd much rather keep the focus of her ire on Aaron anyway. He was the true perpetrator in this mess. Everything else...everything else had been the result of horrible timing and circumstance - and that was no one's fault.

"What did it say?" Cassandra asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

Evelyn's smile was small and tired, but it was genuine. "It's an apology."

* * *

She devoured the book Cullen had left her with the letter. Evelyn had always hungered for knowledge. She'd forever been fascinated with history as well. Curiously, though, the Circle libraries she'd been to had never contained many volumes on Thedosian history. There had been plenty of books on Andraste, commentaries on the Maker, or excerpts from journals of those who had seen or experienced His divine will. There had never been anything at all on Chantry history aside from the few passages about Andraste herself.

Now having finished the book about the second Exalted March, she could well understand why. Reading this - an almost glowing report from a Templar on the front lines - made her feel sick to her stomach. While the elves certainly were not entirely innocent in the affair of Red Crossing, did they really deserve such blind persecution? Was that the Maker's will? Did he accept the cruelty dealt out with frightening efficiency to innocent men, women, and children?

Evelyn frowned to herself as she placed the book back on its shelf in Cullen's office. There was another beside it, the title informing her that it was a continuation of the first. She ran her fingers along the worn leather spine, hesitating to pick it up.

Did she want to know more? Already she had begun to doubt the sincerity of the Chantry's motives over the last few ages. The timeline for this book was more recent. Would she find herself as equally disappointed? Moreover, what did Cullen think of it? The book was his, after all, and he'd deliberately set it aside for her to read.

Perhaps she should ask him. They had always enjoyed candid discussions on a myriad of topics, and if anyone would give her a straight answer or an unapologetic opinion, it would be Cullen. The man did not pull punches with his beliefs, and she supposed that was one of the reasons she had grown so fond of him. They could have a difference in opinion and want to shake each other silly, but in the end they would always respect one another.

Surely he would understand her desire to discuss the subject with him.

Plucking the second volume from the shelf, Evelyn flopped down into the Commander's chair and searched for his writing implements. Cassandra, by her own admission, was terrible at writing reports and orders, and had left the majority of her written communications in Leliana's capable hands.

She stared at the parchment before her, frowning as she tried to decide on how to begin. Idly, she turned Michael's ring around on her thumb. The weight of the iron and the etching of running horses along the band served as a comfort to her just as Evan's phylactery did. Two brothers lost now, and although she could still taste the sorrow bitter on her tongue, she was glad that she had something to remember them by - even if they were only trinkets.

Again she thought of Cullen, a smile forming unconsciously on her lips. Her humble, thoughtful, and kind friend was as close to perfect as any mortal had a right to be. While he could lose his temper, and was more often grumpy than not, the Commander was an old and gentle soul. And then…

She brushed the feathered end of the quill against her lips, remembering the feeling of his mouth gently leading hers in a kiss. The feeling of it still lingered as if it were branded onto her skin. Had she snuffed out the possibility of more before she'd ever gotten the chance with her behavior? Would he forget about that night by the time he returned?

Leliana had mentioned that it may take their forces several months before the Inquisition had secured the Western Approach. There was so much to be done that Cullen had needed to go out with them despite Hawke's insistence on his presence. The thought of having to wait to see him for an indeterminable length of time caused her to fidget nervously. There was so much she needed to say.

Deciding that nothing could be done about that for now, she began to scrawl the beginnings of her letter to him in earnest, desiring to keep at least one avenue of communication open between them.

* * *

_...and so I find myself removed from my previous notions regarding the Chantry's military might. While I respect the Templars and their sacrifices - you know this - I cannot help but think that the upper echelons of our world are ignorant of those beneath them. Is a peasant's suffering not equal to that of a nobleman? What does a tithe or an indulgence have anything to do with eternal salvation? Last I checked one could not simply buy their way to the Maker's side, but it seems the Chantry is doing nothing to quell these blasphemous institutions. Instead they worry themselves sick over the stability of the Circles and tax the life out of their believers to fund their lavish lifestyles._

_I did some research into this matter with the help of Dorian and Leliana. Needless to say that my concerns are founded, but this is all so much to take in._

_I feel impossibly sheltered from this political side to my faith. Have things always been so backwards? I need your insight on this matter. If nothing else, it will make me feel a little better having your knowledge at hand should I approach my father about this._

_I wish you were here so I could speak more in depth with you, but I fear this will have to do. Please don't allow Hawke to drag you into anything unnecessarily dangerous. Varric has been telling some rather impossible stories as of late, and I cannot tell what parts are embellished and which are true._

_Evelyn_

Cullen snorted at the last part of Evelyn's letter, not finding that surprising in the least.

"Something funny, Altar Boy?" Hawke's voice drifted over from where she rode beside him.

"Will you never cease with that moniker? Even Curly is better."

She grinned. "Quit bitching. It's too early for your bad attitude."

Amber eyes rolled as a heavy sigh escaped his lips. "It's  _always_  too early for you, Hawke."

"Clearly because I'm just too much fun."

Although Cullen had resigned himself to being perpetually exasperated around her, he couldn't help the small chuckle her words elicited from him

"That's certainly one way to say it, I suppose."

She didn't say anything else for quite a while, regarding him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"You hardly slept at all last night, Cullen. Is doing this today wise?"

The old crumbling fort was coming into view now. Anticipation threaded through his veins at the possibility of learning what the Wardens were up to out here - the Venatori, too. Oddly, enough reports had been laid in his hands speaking of the two somehow working together that he'd decided to make tracking down the Wardens a priority.

"I've been living with this for a while now. I will be fine." His clipped reply only caused her to narrow her eyes at him.

He knew that look.

She wasn't finished with him yet.

"Cullen-"

"Leave the man alone, Hawke. You're not his mother." Peter interrupted her, but his voice was gentle.

Surprised, Cullen looked up to meet the Seeker's pointed gaze. Was there anything Peter  _didn't_ know? Well, perhaps he didn't and simply thought Cullen was ill. Still…

"I'm fine. Let's just find Stroud and see what the Wardens have been up to."

His tone left no room for argument. The Commander of the Inquisition was done talking.

"He said he'd be up in this direction," Hawke replied, passing a furtive look toward Peter.

"So Erimond is a dick." Peter groused between mouthfuls of water as he, Hawke and Cullen sat on top of the battlements back at Griffon Wing Keep.

That was the understatement of the year, Cullen thought, still trying to scrape demon bile from between the metal scales of his armor. Magister Erimond was working with the Venatori in an attempt to take over the Grey Wardens of Orlais. Apparently the first step was ensuring that all of the Warden mages were sufficiently bound to demons. The very thought made his skin crawl.

The shudder that wracked his body preceded a cold sweat which, given the intensity of the setting sun, was actually welcome. He tried his hardest to keep his hand steady as he made to scrape the scales again, but the implement he was using skid off the armor and lodged itself in his opposite hand

"Maker!" He growled, quickly placing the wound in his mouth to keep more gore from splashing onto the plate.

Peter pressed a clean rag into Cullen's hands with a small smile. "I hear the tremors can be really irritating," He said conversationally.

Truth was, Peter had known Cullen was off of Lyrium since the moment they'd met. In fact, it was because of his intentional distance from Templar control that he'd even allowed the Commander near his sister. He didn't trust the Templars, and he trusted blessedly few Circle representatives. If for some reason Cullen had still been affiliated with the Order, he would have persuaded Evelyn to leave the Inquisition after Therinfal.

Much like Cassandra, Peter's talent dealt with manipulating the Lyrium inside of a person's body - mage or Templar. Though he'd only used it in emergencies, he had been more than prepared to unleash it on Cullen were he a threat to Evelyn. That was until he discovered the man had barely any Lyrium in his veins to justify using his talent. The discovery was jarring at first, but he then recalled something Edward had said about the Inquisition's Commander being a Templar who'd broken away from the Order. In hindsight, that alone was probably when he started liking the man.

Cullen blew out a frustrated sigh, regarding Peter with a mix of irritation and resignation. There was no point in dancing around the issue now. "They are. Especially when I'm in the middle of writing a report."

He nodded. "So it's been what, a little over a year since you quit?"

"Yes. My last dose was on the day Cassandra recruited me to the cause." A fond smile passed over Cullen's features as he said this. The man clearly enjoyed his work, and if Peter didn't know better he would have said the Commander was in love with his job rather than the Inquisitor.

"What does it feel like?"

"Shit." Cullen stated simply, checking his hand to ensure the bleeding had stopped before resuming the work on his armor. "It doesn't appeal to everyone. Maker, it doesn't even appeal to me, but I said I was going to do it so I will endure." Though he didn't know if there was going to really  _be_  an end to the perpetual  _want_  that bullied his body day and night. "I don't go back on my word."

Hawke smiled a little at Cullen's vehement explanation and at the missive she had just received via Josephine from Skyhold. "Ah yes, well the Inquisition's Enduring Knight is going to either love or hate his ambassador when I explain her plans for him regarding a certain ball for a certain empress."

Cullen blanched, winced, and the pleading look in his eyes only made her grin widen. "What has she done?"

"Tell me, Commander, do you know how to dance?"

"No." He narrowed his eyes in a frown. "And I refuse to learn. It's a waste of time. Why?"

Hawke straightened away from the wall, a wince betraying her still damaged behind. "Josephine is requesting that you make a concentrated effort on learning at least one dance. Apparently the Inquisition has been called to the Winter Palace by invitation of Grand Duke Gaspard."

"Why is Josephine telling you this?"

She snorted. "I imagine she assumes I know something about it already, since you  _should_ have opened your mail from her earlier. Instead you were too busy reading Evelyn's letter."

Her eyebrows wagged suggestively.

"Enlighten me then, oh deductive one."

Cullen was curious now, though his tight-lipped smile belied his stiff posture. Idly, she wondered why he was so adverse to the idea of learning a waltz or two. Was he so afraid of being embarrassed?

"She would like me to teach you while we are here, because she wishes you to be Evelyn's escort. I don't think your ambassador or spymaster are quite comfortable with the idea of letting the Grand Duke parade the Inquisitor around like a prize. You know, high opinions, the game, all of that other bullshit I can't be bothered with."

He sighed. "Why does that even matter? People know how strong the Inquisition is by our deeds."

Peter nodded, seeing his point. "But consider that Gaspard may have ulterior motives inviting the Inquisitor to such an event knowing full well that he is in the middle of a civil war with Celene over the throne. Do you remember the plot we discovered at Therinfal? This might have something to do with it."

That seemed to get the Commander's attention. "If it means keeping Evelyn out of harm's way, then I will do it."

Hawke laughed, placing a hand over her mouth to try and conceal her mirth when Cullen shot her a withering glare.

"Don't look so put out, Altar Boy. A lot of women find dancing with a handsome man awfully romantic."

"And how would you know that?"

She punched his arm, which actually smart quite a bit, before thrusting the letter Josephine had written on top of the armor in his lap. "I'll have you know I'm a pretty good dancer, and I had Sebastian Vael as a teacher so that definitely puts me one up on you, mister."

"Ha!" Peter guffawed. "A Starkhavener taught you to dance? Maker have mercy. Your waltz must look stiff as a dead nug."

"Oh?" Hawke bristled at his tone, but rose to the challenge he posed. "Care to show me how men from Ostwick take a turn about the ballroom?"

She faked her best simper to which Cullen rolled his eyes. Nearly three months with her and he was glad they hadn't gotten stuck he'd employed the maneuver so often.

Peter grinned, the expression rather wolfish. "I accept your challenge, Serrah Hawke."

* * *

When she had awoken that night she expected to hear the same words she had grown so accustomed to this past year. Evelyn did  _not_  expect to see the inky black mass hovering over her bed, the dark shape undulating and floating formlessly in the air. It would make her a liar if she said she wasn't surprised by it. In fact, she had been terrified.

They watched each other for a while, and though the thing didn't have any eyes that she could see she sensed it was paying very close attention to her. Spirit, demon, something else - she had no idea what this thing was. She had never encountered it before, but it felt dangerous despite not having harmed her for quite some time.

"Hello?" She tried, finding a strength in her words that she did not feel.

A flurry of sound surrounded her, whispering words she could not discern until those three words found their way into her ears once again.

_Let me in._

Absolutely not, she thought, and in a moment of anger and resolve she pushed away from her mattress and fled her room to the main hall. She'd eventually ended up in the library rotunda with Solas where he had convinced her to finally confront the problem.

Now she stood in the middle of her chambers with the travel-wizened elf while her father walked slowly around the perimeter of the room. They had both decided it would be wise to have him close at hand should they encounter a demon, though Solas had always been more than capable deflecting their assaults in the field. She suspected he knew more than he let on about this situation, but at the same time not enough that he would trust his own skills alone in dealing with such a matter should it get out of hand.

It was a mystery to her. He never divulged any of his secrets. Maybe she was still a bit miffed that he'd refused to teach her how to really  _see_  the Fade as he did. While she could manipulate the dream world easily, she did not possess the knowledge to view memories and feelings trapped in the Fade. She could only perceive what was immediate and present, which usually led to many an enlightening encounter with a spirit and the occasional demon.

"How long has this been going on, did you say?" Adair interrupted her reverie, snapping her attention back to the present with an embarrassed flush.

"Longer than I'd like to admit. Since before the fall of Haven."

He frowned, beginning another circuit around the space with his hand placed on his sword grip. It was a nervous gesture of his - of most Templars, actually. Cullen had a habit of it as well, though she suspected the Commander was completely aware of how intimidating it looked in the middle of a heated conversation or while giving orders to his men.

"You are correct, my friend. This feeling I have does possess the hallmarks of a demonic presence, but as for why it is in your room and why we cannot physically see it is beyond me."

Adair paused a moment, passing close to the bed and making a small disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.

"That would be because mages are not familiar with this kind of summoning," the ex Knight Commander spoke quickly, kneeling down and disappearing beneath the bed.

Evelyn blinked, leaning down to peer under the four poster to see what on Thedas her father was doing. Solas mirrored her actions.

Adair emerged a short while later, holding up a small, flat silver medallion. Turning in about in his fingers as he stood.

"This," he began, "is a form of demon summoning unique to the Templar Order. It's the same kind of calling we place when a mage is to take their Harrowing."

Evelyn blinked. She'd always assumed the demons came of their own accord. "What?"

"Before a mage is taken into the Harrowing chamber the Knight to stand vigil over the apprentice must call forth a demon so it is present at the proper time."

"Ensuring that a test will always be taken," Solas elaborated, a hard edge to his voice.

"Maker." Evelyn breathed. "It's summoned into the fount isn't it? The one we drink the Lyrium from before…"

"Yes. The same. It's so mage and demon have a proper connection for the trial. No outside interference."

"So the Templars…"

"Are hypocrites? Absolutely. This is a fine example." He held up the medallion between his thumb and fore finger. "This trinket has a demon attached to it. The reason you only seem to encounter it in your sleep or while you're in bed is because it was placed beneath the mattress."

"And the reason I can't confront it in the Fade is because it doesn't actually inhabit it anymore."

He nodded, expression growing grim.

"What enemy have you made in a Templar, love? This is very strictly confined to the Templar Order."

She could think of only one person.

"His name is Teague. He is no longer here, though. Cullen tossed him out."

"Just as well," Solas commented. "That man was a danger to all mages in the Inquisition."

Evelyn couldn't help but agree. The man was dangerous.

"You're sure he wasn't working with anyone else?" Her father pressed. "This was intended to stay here for a long time. It's not to simply scare you. Long periods of exposure can lead to possession."

Evelyn blanched. "They were trying to feed me to a demon?" She shook her head, a chill skating up her arms. "I think he was working on his own."

Adair nodded, some dark emotion passing across his features before he tucked the trinket away within the folds of his robe. "I will destroy this. If the nightmares persist there may be more, but I'm fairly certain this is the only one."

She nodded, turning to Solas who looked like he'd just eaten something particularly bitter.

"Trust the Chantry to adopt an Elvhen ritual and pervert it so they can better persecute mages."

Adair ignored his words, not wishing to argue the truth of that statement despite his personal feelings on the reasoning for such actions.

That night when she retired Evelyn had noticed the change in the atmosphere. The space felt lighter and less oppressive. Ferelden had even deigned to join her in bed, now at ease in her rooms.

She was ecstatic at the prospect of getting a good night's rest in a proper bed. As it happened, she could only get particularly restful sleep when she was out on the road.

Unable to suppress a squeal of delight she jumped onto the bed and rolled over onto her back. Ferelden regarded her with thinly veiled exasperation.

"What?" She said to the Mabari. "You've been sleeping cozy in the throne room for weeks while I've had to share this room with a demon. Excuse me for feeling a little liberated."

A soft  _whuff_  escaped him before he curled around himself and settled in for the night.

While she was pleased to not have anymore interrupted nights, Evelyn was too excited to sleep. She reached over to the nightstand and took up another of Cullen's books, intending on learning a bit more about siege tactics before the night was out.

* * *

Cullen was fairly certain he'd not fallen asleep in a sunny field of dandelions. In fact, he was pretty sure the oak leaves he was staring up into were also a figment of his imagination. Strange, he thought. He didn't recognize this place from his dreams. He was never so lucky to dream something so pleasant.

He could vaguely remember that the withdrawals that day had been particularly trying, and so it was under Hawke's order and Rylen's insistence that he take a day to rest. Cullen was, by his very nature, not the restful type. Sitting idle had nearly driven him to wits end, but not before he had poured over his armor three or four times to check for damage, dirt, the odd grain of sand that would make that horrible noise when he walked.

He had paused upon inspecting his gauntlets, as he always did, brushing his fingers against the enchantment there. A contented sigh left his lips at the feeling of Evelyn's magic brushing across his senses. Through the worst of his symptoms away from Skyhold, this had become his vice - almost a ritual of sorts to calm his nerves and clear his head.

"Oh...hello."

The familiar voice had him sitting bolt upright.

_No. No, no, no, no._

If this was a nightmare like all of the others, he needed to wake up now. He refused to have them pervert her too.

A whimper nearly escaped him when amber eyes fixed on blue, and he saw her there sitting in the sunlight like some kind of ethereal being. Maker, she was beautiful.

Please don't ruin her too, he thought desperately.

Evelyn cocked her head, curious at Cullen's wide-eyed expression - or at least what appeared to be Cullen. She didn't sense a spirit or a demon, and yet sharing one's dreams was a very rare occurrence. Even among mages it was incredibly rare. Could this actually be…? No...

"Stay away from me," he bit out, expression shifting from one of fear to one of anger.

Immediately she held up her hands. "I'm sorry. I will not touch you."

She, it, whatever it was sat some distance away, looking at him with curiosity. This was normally not how these kinds of dreams began. It threw him for a loop and intensified his unease. He did not want Evelyn's image to be brought into this realm of fear and hate. He wouldn't be able to look at her in the same way.

Very slowly he drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees while leaning back against the tree. He was hiding, protecting himself.

Evelyn was terribly curious. "Would you feel better if…" She thought a moment, grasping blindly now. "...if perhaps we exchanged information? I'll tell you something I'm sure Cullen doesn't know about me."

Diplomatic. Whatever this was had done some digging around in his head. Still, the offer was tantalizingly straight forward, and it hadn't made a move yet. Patience was not something desire demons were necessarily known for.

Seeing no immediate way out, he would acquiesce for the moment. "I'll bite. I will not offer the same in exchange." There was no way he would feed it more information.

"That's fine." Her voice was calm and soothing, like she was speaking to a frightened child. She let the silence hang around them for a moment, choosing carefully what she would say lest this image be some form of Fade trickery with which we was not yet familiar.

"I love your hands."

The utterly perplexed look that crossed his features caused her to laugh. Oh dear, she didn't mean to make him uncomfortable.

"What?"

"I love your hands." She gestured to where his bare hands clasped together in front of his knees. "Sometimes, at the war table, I'm tempted to ask you to take off your gloves so I can see them." She blushed at that admission, having a feeling that perhaps that was going too far. Again, she didn't sense that what was before her was a spirit or a demon. It felt distinctly Cullen.

He hastily pulled his hands out of sight and hid them in his lap, pinning her with a glare.

Alright. Definitely not the right thing to say. Maker, she'd never had to convince someone she was herself before.

"What could I do to get you to trust me - to believe that I'm, well, me?"

If possible, his glare deepened. "You'll get nothing from me. If you know me so well, you will figure it out. Evelyn is intelligent enough to come up with something, if you really are her."

He absolutely did not sound convinced.

They sat for a long time looking at one another. His angry eyes bored into her curious ones, and it took some time before she got the spark of an idea.

"You're the only person I know who doesn't get uncomfortable when I do this," she began. Then, slowly, she relaxed her hold on her power, allowing it to surround her as she had all those months ago in the ballroom at Skyhold.

His recognition showed immediately in his eyes, though he was still anxious by the looks of it.

"How?" It was her! He would know her magic anywhere. If it was a demon he would sense something different altogether. Wouldn't he?

She shrugged, looking a little sheepish "I don't know. This," she gestured between the two of them, "happens so rarely that it is very poorly documented. I've only experienced it once before with Evan."

"What does it mean?" He asked, beginning to relax somewhat, though he was still wary.

She couldn't really blame him. Did anyone fully trust what they dreamed?

Evelyn blushed. "That I've just thoroughly embarrassed myself in front of you."

"Wha-oh. The hands."

She groaned, smacking her palm against her forehead. "Can we forget I ever said that?"

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "Why would I want to do that?"

"To show mercy on me, clearly. I was in a hurry for something convincing to say." She made to move toward him, but she stopped when he visibly tensed. He still didn't trust himself. This was so strange. "This has something to do with what happened at Kinloch Hold, doesn't it?"

Cullen blew out a sigh. "Yes. It does. A, ah...desire demon tried to tempt me with someone that I..." He hesitated. "...Someone that I cared for very much." Did a pretty damn good job of it too, he remembered bitterly.

For some reason that lame explanation caused a tentative smile to grace her pretty features. What for, he wondered? Mentally running over his comment in his head he suddenly froze at the implication he hadn't intended, a furious blush staining his cheeks.

"What I mean is-. I meant to say-. Maker." He sighed, bringing up a hand to rub absently at the back of his neck.

Evelyn flushed. "It's alright, Cullen. I know you didn't mean it like that."

What? No! He absolutely did mean it like that! If she was even real, he mused.

"Didn't mean it like what?" He asked, trying to regain some of his equilibrium by feigning ignorance. He knew exactly what she was referring to. Perhaps he just wanted to hear her say it.

She looked sheepish, uncomfortable, and impossibly attractive as she struggled to answer. "That you care for me."

Well, demon or sun-induced insanity, here it went.

"I do care for you."

To his surprise, all tension seemed to drain out of her and she bestowed him with a smile that made his lips twitch in response. No...this couldn't be a demon - not with an infectious smile like that.

"Come here." He may regret this, he thought as he leaned forward to take her hand and tug her closer to him. She settled down beside him, leaning against his shoulder with another infectious grin.

"I have so much to tell you," Evelyn began excitedly as the pair fell back into their comfortable dynamic.

She told him everything: what she'd done to Aaron the night after he had left, the medallion her father had found, how they thought Teague might have been responsible for its presence. She'd also spent a fair amount of time out in the field recruiting more agents for the Inquisition. The relief work had nearly been completed in the Hinterlands, she told him, and the villagers there had sworn themselves to the Inquisition's cause. Apparently she had also met a dragon.

" _Met_  a dragon?" Cullen asked with some skepticism. This was a dream, after all.

She nodded emphatically, excitement brightening the impossibly blue color of her eyes.

"It was the most amazing thing! You see, earlier in the day Bull wasn't paying attention to where he was walking and stepped right on me. I had the most awful muscle pull of my life. So here I was trying to walk off the worst of it once we'd made camp. I was headed down into this shallow cave, intending to turn around and walk right back when it opened up into this secret valley. Curious, I looked around for a bit before I realized I was being watched. All I felt was this really hot wind blast down from above me. When I looked up, I saw her."

Evelyn's eyes practically sparkled.

"She was beautiful! All different colors of scales, and this  _huge_  head with horns bigger than Bull's. She just perched there on the ledge above me and watched. I was so nervous I had froze, but she didn't seem too aggressive. I imagine she was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her. After a while she settled down on the rock, and I hurried off to tell Cassandra."

"Let me guess," Cullen spoke, scratching the stubble on his jaw with a grin, "she was angry you wandered off on your own."

"Oh absolutely!"

He laughed at her complete disregard for their poor Seeker's wits.

"But I would do it again, even if it meant listening to another of her overprotective tirades," she said.

He raised one pale brow at her statement, a smirk evident at the corner of his mouth. "I think she deserves the overprotective tirade, Evelyn. I probably would have done the same."

She grinned. "Still completely worth it. I've never seen a dragon before. I've only read about them in books."

Cullen lifted a hand, brushing the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. "You're positively incorrigible." And he admired her endlessly, he thought.

Her eyes flew to his, her expression unreadable before her mouth softened into an adoring smile which he could only mirror as they sat there in the strange dreams cape, his thumb brushing idly over her cheekbone.

"I get that a lot," Evelyn breathed, gaze flitting down to his mouth. "Cullen, about that night you left. I'm sorry I-"

The pad of his thumb brushed against her lower lip.

"Don't apologize. I understand."

"Do you know when you're coming come?"

He smiled at that. Home. With her. That was definitely something he was looking forward to.

"After the ball at the Winter Palace. That's the earliest I can return."

She frowned. "So long? That's several months away."

Evelyn was already being fitted for a suitable gown. All the while she'd been threatened by the seamstress and Josephine to not overindulge lest she be unable to fit into the garment when the time came. She hated fittings, she reflected with a grumble.

"Disappointed?"

"Obviously. I miss speaking with you. I miss you."

Cullen pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I miss you too." He ghosted his lips against hers as he spoke, sending a pleasant shiver down the column of her spine.

"Cullen!"

He pulled back with a frown, unwilling to remove his hands from Evelyn.

"Cuuullleeennn!" The voice said again, distorted inside this place.

Gradually the dream scape of the Fade gave way to the canvas top of his tent and Hawke's concerned face hovering far too close to his own.

He raised a hand to wave her off of him. "Maker, what's wrong with you? I was sleeping."

"Yeah? Well you've been sleeping for the last ten hours."

He blinked. "What?"

"Yeah. Here." she shoved a water skin into his hands as he sat up. "You need to drink."

Cullen frowned, eyeing the light of dawn beginning to brighten the sky.

"Good dream? You haven't slept that soundly since you've been out here."

He regarded her out of the corner of his eye a moment before smiling in a way that surprised the Champion. It was honest, boyish, and made him look years younger. "A very good dream."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the lovely words of encouragement, guys! :) It really keeps me going.

This entire plan was turning into a shit show. First that damned woman, not a battle-hardened bone in her body, survives Haven. Fuck, he'd brought the roof of a tavern down on top of her! Second, even with Corypheus himself present, she had managed to slip through their fingers so easily.

He didn't even want to dwell on that angry message Teague had shared with him from their Lord. Needless to say Corypheus was gunning for another attempt at the Inquisitor's life, though perhaps now in a more subtle fashion.

Samson was no stranger to subterfuge. In fact, he'd made a bit of a living sneaking about, selling information, and lying through his crooked teeth. It was easy when one had a large enough incentive, and the consistent doses of Lyrium were more than adequate payment for him after the shit he'd been through with Meredith and the Order in Kirkwall.

He watched Evelyn Trevelyan laugh in the courtyard with a gaggle of small children and, although he felt some twinge of regret, was assured the life of one rather useless and troublesome woman could simply not compare to the lives he would change once she and the Inquisition were out of the way. Her dalliance with Cullen only made his job easier. There would be a new world order, he thought with a grin, and he would finally be paid his due.

He sealed the letter he had been writing with clipped, efficient movements and tied the small strip of parchment to the leg of a tawny-colored falcon.

_En route to Halamshiral in three days time._

_Notify Shadow_

They needed this plan to work. If it failed, the Red Templars would have to resort to far more invasive and drastic measures. The blasted Herald of Andraste was more resilient than she appeared, and now they'd found Teague's medal. He was certain Lord Trevelyan knew something was amiss. He'd barely let his daughter out of his sight when she was within Skyhold's walls. Outside, she was under the protection of that damned Qunari and had even begun to take that damnable Grey Warden with her.

He took a steadying breath, willing his anger to subside. Shadow wouldn't fail. She had too much to lose to if she did.

* * *

"I just-" Evelyn spun around on the small foot stool, trying to keep eye contact with her ambassador. "Josephine, this really  _is_  too much skin! I'll be attracting attention for all of the wrong reasons."

Josephine narrowed her cat-like eyes on the Inquisitor. "Stop grousing Evelyn. You look radiant. Besides," she spoke as she moved forward to adjust a piece of the crinoline that needed to be pinned back, "this design was your father's idea. It's traditional for a grand event such as this."

The Inquisitor wished he hadn't bothered to get involved.

"Josie, honestly, can't we just stitch up this-"

"Absolutely not. It adds to the character of the entire ensemble."

Evelyn cast a pleading look over her shoulder at Leliana who merely stood against the far wall with a smirk gracing her lips. She would get no help from her.

"I'm practically naked!"

Josephine rolled her eyes. "You are completely clothed, and not a person will think your dress out of the ordinary for nobility from the Free Marches. It does get rather hot there during the summer, as I recall."

Evelyn sighed, turning this way and that in front of the floor-length mirror. In one week's time she would be wearing this exposing monstrosity to a ball held by the Empress of Orlais, and she felt she would be impossibly under-dressed. She may as well wear nothing at all.

The dark gray silk clung to her body like a second skin at the bodice, flaring out about her hips to create a small train behind her while the rest of the skirt nearly brushed the floor. Over her bust a string of alternating pearls and some manner of clear gemstone hung in a heart shape, curling about her shoulders in small, looping designs against her bare skin. The back of the dress, she flushed, was non-existent. The gems and pearls ended against the posterior of her shoulder blades while the silk plunged down to the small of her back. That wasn't the worst of it by far. While the back of the dress was certainly a point of contention from the first, it was Josephine's insistence on making a statement that had Evelyn's eye returning to the front of her dress. A string of finery similar to the one at her bust wrapped around and pulled tightly against the curves of her hips, and one horrifically large crystal sat atop the worst design choice she had ever seen in a dress. Originating from the crystal brooch hanging at her hip, the silk of her dress split apart to reveal the length of her bare leg - just the one, thank the Maker. The crinoline padding the back of her dress was red, and the color peeked out as such from this ill-designed  _hole_  enough to make it severely indecent.

If the dress were made of cotton she could have easily been mistaken for a brothel girl.

A whistle came in from the open window where a pair of pointy ears and amused eyes regarded Evelyn appreciatively.

"Aahh-wwoooo, Evie! You look right frilly in that getup. Bit posh for me but you'll do inna pinch. Fancy you'll have that meanie Celenie eatin' out yer hand by the enduv the night, yeah?"

Evelyn smiled indulgently at Sera while the elf hung half of her body over the window sill from the outside. One hand propped up the girl's head while she stared unashamedly at the Inquisitor.

"The plan is to save her from a would-be assassination attempt. Everyone is going to stare at me while I try."

"Well that's the point, yeah? We go in, eat fancy cakes, let everyone eye-hump your leg forra bit, kill some murdering git and come home. Simple 'nuff."

"Eye-hump my leg?" Evelyn queried with a bit of amusement. She loved Sera's quirkiness.

"Well, that orr'your other bits. Is CullyWully gonna to show? Heheh," she snorted. "He'd  _love_  to hump yer other bits."

Leliana choked on a laugh while Josephine blanched. Evelyn was pretty sure she just wanted a hole in the ground to open up and swallow her.

" _Sera_!"

"Fine, fine, I'll run." She made to leave before popping her head back in the window. "Woof!"

Then she was gone in a fit of giggles.

* * *

"You sure you don't need me to beat away the over-eager Orlesians with a stick, boss?"

"She already had an escort, you lumbering beast. Don't steal the thunder!"

Evelyn smiled at the pair's banter, grateful for the distraction as their carriage made its way toward Halamshiral and the Winter Palace. They'd left Skyhold around mid-morning, and ever since she found herself a mass of nervous energy. On the one hand she was ecstatic to see Cullen, for he'd been gone nearly ten months since she'd last laid eyes on him. Far too long, in her opinion, though they exchanged letters frequently. On the other hand she was still terrified of her dress, the comments, and the overall scrutiny she would experience upon arriving at the palace.

She fidgeted with the skirt of her gown, desperately trying to cover up the provocative slit in her dress. Dorian narrowed his eyes at that.

"Don't be so bashful, Evelyn. You look positively marvelous. That dress does wonders for your figure, unlike this one-size-fits-all, militarized, itchy overcoat they have me wearing."

She smirked. "I daresay I'd look better in your clothing, Dorian."

"You know, perhaps we should trade. I doubt a man showing up to a grand ball in a gown would be much of a shock."

Cassandra snorted from her seat next to Evelyn. "Another time, Dorian. I'm sure there will be many opportunities to feature your exhibitionist tendencies."

He grinned. "A pity."

The Inquisitor shook her head as they continued on, Dorian making some absurd remark he was only half-serious about, sometimes not serious at all, Bull making the odd observation now and again, and Cassandra fueling their conversation in good humor.

All too soon, and yet not soon enough, the carriage pulled into a wide circular drive, halting in front of a set of large marble steps.

Bull was out first, then Cassandra, and the Qunari gently handed Evelyn down from the vehicle. When she righted herself, again smoothing the skirt of her gown into some semblance of decency, she observed the very large and intimidating edifice of the Winter Palace.

The building was massive, on par with the Ostwick Circle in breadth. White stone glimmered silver in the faint light left from the setting sun, and the moon hung low over the blue tiled roof. Windows glowed warmly from within, leaving Evelyn feeling a bit more at ease than she had been before.

"This is beautiful," she breathed.

"It's...charming," Dorian remarked with a teasing grin. "Very rustic."

"Snob," she parried, looping her arm through his as they were led up the low steps, through an impossibly shiny brass gate, and into a garden where  _hundreds_  of people milled about. Nearly everyone stopped short, conversations ending, as they eyed the Inquisitor's arrival with mixed emotions.

Some appeared overjoyed, many more curious, others looked decidedly displeased. She felt like she was on display. Well, she was. That's what Josephine had been trying to say. It was important for her to draw the eye of the party-goers so the Inquisition could get to the bottom of the threat on Celene's life.

"Ah, there are Josephine and Leliana," Dorian spoke abruptly, seeming to break the spell on the others as he walked behind Cassandra toward the two women who were already deep in conversation with a man who could only have been their contact, Gaspard.

She was rushed into introductions, tolerating the wet smack of Gaspard's lips against her knuckles as he fawned over her success in leading the Inquisition.

Far from it, she thought to say, but uttered nothing that might alter his rather high opinion of their organization. Lying by omission was his own fault, wasn't it?

"Very pleased to meet you, Grand Duke. I was just commenting about how lovely the palace looks tonight. Your cousin has done a marvelous job preparing for this event."

He made an irritated sound in the back of his throat, though Evelyn suspected it wasn't directed at her. The Grand Duke and Celene had their notable differences.

"Yes, yes. Celene always has had a way with parties. Pity she doesn't put as much effort into securing her country as she does her courtly intrigue."

A bit bitter for peace talks, aren't we Gaspard? She thought, shifting subtly backward when he leaned in closer to her. The stench of bourbon and cigars hung heavy on his breath.

"Indeed?"

He laughed, a low, greasy kind of sound. "Oh, yes. But if I get my way tonight, I'll be picking out a bride tomorrow at breakfast and executing uncooperative nobles by lunch time!" He paused a beat. "You are from an extensive noble line, yes Inquisitor?"

Her cheeks flushed, embarrassed at what he was attempting to suggest. "I'm afraid," Evelyn spoke in a small voice, "that I'm spoken for."

That was, mostly, the truth of it. She hadn't seen Cullen in a year, after all - since he'd left for the Western Approach. They hadn't really had anything before that beyond one impromptu stolen kiss. There was that dream, but she still wasn't sure of Cullen's opinion on the matter. He'd never once mentioned it in any of his letters. Somehow that thought saddened her.

"Oh ho?" Gaspard laughed at her again, seeming inappropriately amused by her comment. "I do not see a ring, my dear, and in Orlais that means you are free game. Allow me to go announce us. Please, meet me in the vestibule when you are ready."

She resisted the urge to gag. Maker, was that man foul.

"You know, father always said Orlesians couldn't help their poor manners because they're inbred."

Evelyn spun on her heel toward the voice, a wide grin lighting up her face as her eyes met her brother's.

"Peter!" Throwing her arms around him, she pulled back only far enough to take him in. The Approach hadn't changed him much. His skin was darker, hair longer, but his easy smile was firmly in place.

He regarded her with some amusement. "My, my, my, sister. Who on Thedas dressed you?"

Peter took her hand in his and made to turn her about in a circle so he could see the complete ensemble in all of its stormy gray, improper glory.

"Josephine wanted me to wear something traditional," Evelyn explained quickly.

A small chuckle left her brother's lips. "Then it is a success!"

She frowned. "You don't think it's just a bit inappropriate? All of the other women are wearing long sleeves, and their dresses are actually complete." Evelyn gestured to the gap in the skirt of her gown.

Peter shook his head. "You're too modest. You look wonderful. Stop worrying."

She wrinkled her nose at him, recognizing the subtle order. Well, if Peter thought it was fine, perhaps she should just try to forget…

All coherent thought fizzled entirely from her brain and trickled down her spine to pool at her feet when she looked past Peter's shoulder. Behind him stood a tall, blonde, curly-haired gentleman cut in a pair of perfectly tailored trousers and suit jacket in what appeared to be a Fereldish style. One shoulder was adorned with all manner of medals while the other had been draped with three braided cords of varying colors. At his waist hung a wide belt with a familiar sword fastened at the hip.

Though his back was turned to her, she would know the set of those shoulders and that subtle affirmative stance anywhere. Somewhere nearby Leliana and Josephine exchanged knowing and congratulatory looks. Peter joined them. Dorian wolf-whistled, the sound causing the Commander to look up and see the Tevinter mage. A slow, unguarded smile unfurled on his lips, an expression Evelyn had seen precious few times.

"Dorian!" He turned away from the soldier he'd been speaking to and loped over to the Tevinter mage who, Evelyn supposed, was drinking in the sight of him just as hungrily as she. "It's about time you showed up. Are you always late to balls in Tevinter as well?"

"Always late, but worth the wait, Commander." Dorian winked, eyes shifting over in Evelyn's direction.

Cullen followed his gaze and froze.

Standing beside Peter was Evelyn who, by all accounts, should have struck him deaf, dumb, and blind with her radiance. True, it had been a year since he'd laid eyes on her, but she was just as breathtakingly gorgeous as he'd remembered. Her pale hair hung free and loose in gentle curls down the curve of her spine, her dress- Maker, her dress fit against her body in a way that made his mouth run dry.

Then she smiled at him, striding over to where he stood. Idly, he wondered if he should just turn her smile on their enemies. It was a weapon unto itself.

"Hello." Evelyn came to stand just close enough that he could feel her body heat, and yet just far enough away that it didn't break any rules of decorum.

"Hello," he replied, the smile he'd given Dorian returning with force. "Long time, no see."

A blush traveled lazily from her chest to her cheeks, and he was fairly certain he was flushed himself.

"The court is almost ready to announce us, Inquisitor. We should make our way indoors." Leliana spoke gently as she passed where they had stood staring at one another.

Seeming to remember himself, he offered his elbow to her. "I'm not sure if you've been informed, but it appears I'll be your escort this evening."

If possible, her smiled widened. "Oddly enough," she spoke, shooting a quick glance at Josephine, "I wasn't."

Taking his arm, she tried to ignore the frisson of awareness that coursed through her limbs at the contact. It appeared that time had not dulled her physical reaction to him in the least. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest she swore she could hear it. As they took the steps up to the front doors, Evelyn became aware of all the eyes turned in her direction. Again, she remembered that she was dressed oddly, and it sure didn't help things that she was attached to one of the most handsome men in Orlais. These people weren't blind, after all.

They moved through the doors and into the vestibule, traversing yet another flight of stairs.

"You look beautiful," Cullen murmured quietly from beside her.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress the inane smile that threatened to expose her girlish reaction to his praise.

"You don't look half-bad yourself. I like the hair."

The corner of his mouth lifted into a knowing smirk. "That's what happens when you go a year without a proper brush and you hurriedly cut your hair the night before a ball with an empress and the woman you've been anxious to see for months."

The crown of his head was adorned with a riotous profusion of curls. They were so abundant that a few locks brushed against his forehead in a way that seemed almost playful. While the sides and back of his head were closely cut in his normal fashion, it did in fact look like he'd been in too much of a hurry to bother with the rest.

She didn't mind in the least, especially following that little declaration.

"Keep it. I really do like it."

He inclined his head toward her, a stray curl falling across his forehead. "I'll think about it."

When they reached the top of the steps and she spotted Gaspard, she was suddenly even more grateful to be on Cullen's arm. She'd nearly forgotten the Grand Duke's suggestive tone in the excitement over seeing her Commander once more. Evelyn's grip on Cullen tightened, though her expression remained passive.

Cullen frowned, feeling the tension in her fingers through his jacket. He wanted to ask what was bothering her, but he had been under strict - more like threatening - orders from Josephine to remain silent on personal matters or those of the Inquisition while in close proximity to the patrons at the ball. It appeared he would be silent for most of the night the way they crowded about. Surely this place was large enough to house them all a comfortable distance from one another?

"Ah, Inquisitor, I see you have finally found your significant other among the crush. A shame. I was hoping he wouldn't show so I could have an excuse to take out out on the dance floor."

Cullen's brows rose at the man's audacity. For a Chevalier, he expected the Grand Duke to have a bit more...tact. Wait. Significant other?

To her credit, Evelyn masterfully evaded the uncomfortable point Gaspard had chosen to arm his statement with and replied with a benign smile. "I am sorry to disappoint, Your Highness. Surely there are much lovelier women than I present who would be eager to dance with you."

Fat chance in the Void, Cullen thought. Evelyn was easily the prettiest face in the crowd. Besides, how could a man tell who was lovely or not with a mask obscuring a lady's features?

"You do yourself too little credit, my Lady Trevelyan, but I digress. Shall you and your ah…?"

Cullen smiled, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "Commander Cullen of the Inquisition. Former Knight Commander of Kirkwall. You know, the significant other?"

Evelyn pursed her lips in an effort not to laugh at his irritation with the Duke.

"Of course. A pleasure to meet you Commander," Gaspard merely inclined his head, passing through the doors into the ballroom.

Evelyn and Cullen followed.

"Significant other?" Cullen whispered at her ear.

"Sorry!" She whispered in return. "It was a snap decision. He was coming on a little strong."

"A little? The man was sneering at me the whole time, and I couldn't even see his face."

An amused chuckle reverberated through her chest as she peeked up at him from the corners of her eyes.

"Fine. A lot strong. Regardless, I'm glad you're here to temper him. I wouldn't want to make a scene."

The pair stopped above a set of carpeted stairs where Leliana and Josephine joined them. Reluctantly, Cullen unwound his arm from Evelyn's, instead grasping her hand in his.

"Evelyn, you will need to follow the Grand Duke out first since you represent the Inquisition and we are only here by his invitation. The rest of us will follow when our names are announced. When you address the Empress, be sure to-"

"Stop fussing, Josie." Leliana admonished, smiling reassuringly at the nervous Inquisitor. "Just be yourself and you will do splendidly." She grinned. "Luckily, you're a noble by birth."

Evelyn hid her laugh with her hand. "You never know. I may yet expose myself as a knuckle-dragging heathen from some backwater village in the Free Marches."

"Now presenting Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons!" The herald announced, a hush falling over the occupants of the ballroom as the man made his way down the steps and out onto the floor with all of the self-appointed regal pomposity of a spoiled, self-serving, and yet sufficiently powerful individual. While Evelyn might not have liked Gaspard as a man, she could not deny that he held himself with a brand of respect expected of an Emperor. Whether he would become one by the end of the night remained to be seen.

"And his guest Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan: Senior Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle of Magi. Daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick in the Free Marches!"

By this time Evelyn was making her way across the floor. Head up and shoulders back, Josephine had hissed before pressing her down the stairway. Her hand still tingled from where Cullen had placed his lips on the back of her knuckles before releasing her.

She really did try not to smile like an idiot at that.

"Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford: Commander of the Inquisition's forces and previous Knight Commander of Kirkwall!"

Evelyn almost tripped up the steps where Gaspard now stood.  _Stanton_? Someone's parents had been cruel, though not nearly so cruel as Cassandra's whose many names were now being reiterated to the court.

When all was said and done Evelyn felt a bit more comfortable standing next to Gaspard with her advisers at her back as Empress Celene appeared at the rail above them. It was a clear show of superiority, she thought, though she could hardly blame the woman. She had allowed a would-be usurper in by the front door. Despite her seemingly relaxed address of her cousin, Evelyn could see the tension in the hard set of her jaw and stiff-waisted movements. When the empress looked her way, however, the woman relaxed considerably. She wondered why. It was not as if they had ever met. Regardless, something about Evelyn caused Her Royal Highness some relief.

Perhaps it was that, draped with silks, pearls, and jewels, Evelyn appeared a somewhat familiar sight. Not necessarily that she was less threatening, she suspected that most of Celene's opposition came dressed in finery, but that Evelyn was simply an enemy she thought she knew.

If only the empress realized that Evelyn was really quite out of her depth. While she had the manners and poise of a noble, that was the extent of her courtly knowledge. Josephine had taken considerable pains to educate her on matters of the court - who was in talks with who, the myriad of illicit affairs sure to be conducted this night, why it mattered if some such Duchess didn't dance with some such Duke. It was complicated enough to make her head spin, but she was intrigued all the same. The unfamiliar subject matter was a challenge for the mage who had, by now, decimated Cullen's library of military-based texts.

It was entertaining thoughts of her Commander when she realized the Empress was speaking to her. Crap!

She scrambled for something bland and general to say, hoping the woman would find it passable. The last thing she wanted was for the nobility of Orlais to think she was some kind of rude, inattentive dolt.

"I am pleased to finally meet you, Your Highness," She dropped into a low, graceful curtsy. She did not, however, lower her eyes. Such a move of supplication might have been proper for the Empress' subjects, but Evelyn was not Orlesian nor was she part of an organization that answered to the Orlesian nobility. Keeping her eyes fixed on Celene's face, she showed that she would respect the woman, but she was in no way subservient to her.

By the wry smile Celene granted her, she supposed her actions had the effect she'd intended. Good. She already liked the woman if only for the simple fact that she hadn't made a pass at Evelyn like her considerably less-couth cousin.

Gaspard had already been pulled away into talks with Celene, and so Evelyn and her advisers found themselves running over their plans for how best to discover the unknown assassin among the gentry.

"Our soldiers are being brought in little by little at the entry points we discussed earlier, Leliana," Cullen spoke quietly, casting a wary eye around them. He was about as comfortable here as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

"Excellent." The Nightingale smiled privately at Evelyn. "The mage I mentioned earlier remains a firm suspect, Evelyn. While I've had contact with her in the past, she is cunning and ruthless. This does not appear to be something she would trouble herself with, but I cannot rule someone this powerful out of the equation."

"Right, I will try to find information on her. The others are here, correct?"

Josephine nodded. "Sera and Varric are guiding Cullen's men inside. Bull is keeping an ear to the ground in the guest wing. Dorian is...probably drinking too much, but he will be able to offer some insight, I think."

Evelyn nodded. "Perfect. I'll make my way around and see if I can't pick up any gossip that seems out of place

It was some time later and after finding the bodies of several members of the Council of Heralds that Evelyn finally met with the mage Leliana seemed so concerned about. Morrigan was her name, and she was every bit as intimidating as she appeared. Despite the prickly exterior, though, Evelyn sensed that this woman cared little for the political machinations of Orlesian familial squabbles, nor did she seem to know anything related to Corypheus. She was aware of some suspicious goings on, but little else.

Armed with this new information, a rumor about servant disappearances, and a key, Evelyn made her way back into the ballroom to enlighten Leliana on her latest discoveries. She'd been just about to turn the key over to Varric when she spied Cullen nearly drowning in a sea of fine fabrics, strong perfume, and lustful little sighs.

For some reason, she found that rather irritating.

"Commander, would you please tell us about the fall of the Circle at Kinloch Hold? Surely, as the only survivor you must have some harrowing stories."

Several little voices tittered gratingly at the word "harrowing" like it was some kind of joke.

"No." Cullen said firmly, and a bit too quickly. Clearing his throat, he tried to salvage his rude reply. "No. Thank you."

It was only slightly less offensive, though Evelyn could hardly blame him for wanting to steer away from such a painful subject. Gently, she began pushing through his throng of admirers.

"That scar on your lip, was it from a Qunari during their invasion of Kirkwall? How many of your men died protecting the civilians there?"

She saw Cullen's lip curl in distaste the moment before she broke through the crowd and took his arm in hers. "Commander," she spoke softly, yet loudly enough that those closest would be able to hear. Evelyn turned so that she faced him, her hip leaning against his. It was perhaps too subtle of a show of possession for these shameless vultures, but she could hardly pull him into a heated kiss with all of these eyes on them. She would expire of embarrassment - not of him, but the display itself. "I find I am in need of your rather  _expert_  advice." She freighted her words with a sensual note she was sure the onlookers wouldn't miss, and tugged Cullen rather ungraciously away from them. All the while he regarded her with a mix of confusion and amusement.

Once they were out in the vestibule, he chanced a laugh. "That was quite the performance."

She frowned. "They were making you uncomfortable. I can't believe how rude some of those questions were! Perhaps Peter was right about the inbreeding."

Cullen watched her angrily nibble at her lower lip and scuff one slippered foot against the marble floor. He'd never had anyone rush to defend him before - not that he'd needed it - until he'd met Evelyn. It was a strange feeling to be cared about in such a way, and he was still getting used to it despite taking some small joy in her high color and grumbling remarks on his behalf.

That was simply one of the many things he loved about her.

"Well, now that I've started  _that_  whole lot of rumors, I suppose you should come with me," She spoke, pulling him out of his musings.

"Where to?" Cullen held out his arm for her, which she took without question as she began to lead him toward the guest wing.

"The servants, Briala's people, have been concerned about disappearances there tonight. Leliana and I agreed something was amiss, and I was just heading off to find Varric and investigate."

Cullen frowned. "This night is becoming more complicated than we anticipated, and I get the feeling I'm going to be met with one nasty surprise. I don't like it."

She sighed as they descended into the Hall of Heroes and to the door leading to the servant's quarters. "I share your unease, but there's little to be done about it now. Call me fickle, but I'm more concerned about a few missing elves than one empress."

Cullen's mouth lifted into a smirk. "Don't say that too loud."

Evelyn managed to unlatch the door, and they were greeted with an all too familiar coppery waft of air as the portal opened. "Damn."

Inside lay the bodies of several servants and, surprisingly, more men and women of nobility. Whoever had been cleaning house down here was indiscriminate, or they were being sent victims from the upper floors.

Cullen cast a critical eye about the bodies. "Cuts are too small for a sword. Can't be a Chevalier." He squat down next to one of the bodies and turned it over to examine one of the wounds more closely when a yell drew their attention to a side door.

A quick glance to one another and they rushed to it in time to see Varric firing a bolt into a garishly dressed man before he artfully fled the field into a nearby apartment.

"Venatori!" Cullen growled, drawing his sword in time to held Varric finish off the armed men the dodgy one left behind.

Without a shield he held his sword with two hands to add more force to his blows. It was overkill, as far as Evelyn was concerned. He made cutting through bone and sinew look like cutting through fresh butter. It would be unnerving if she didn't have so much faith in his good heart.

"Long time, Curly! Glad you and Sunshine showed up when you did. That asshole was going to eat me for breakfast." He cast a pointed look up to the balcony where the one man had disappeared.

Cullen followed his gaze, warily deciding with Varric that they should pursue, but not before Evelyn examined one of the many more bodies strewn about the courtyard.

"This is a Chalons crest on the dagger," Evelyn commented, rather clinical in her assessment. "It wasn't a killing blow, and the placement is a little dramatic. I'll bet this was staged so someone would find it."

"To implicate the Grand-something-or-other?" Varric asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Possibly. Probably. I have no idea what's going on anymore, but it's safe to assume the Chalons are now a target as well as Celene. Someone wanted this crested dagger found here and assume the Grand Duke, or someone associated with him, was taken under suspicion." Evelyn's brow furrowed as she turned the events over in her head.

She was wearing her Senior Enchanter face again, Cullen thought, keeping an eye out for further threats while she and Varric worked over theories before the dwarf let out a tired sigh.

"Let's go find that bastard dressed like a clown and punch some answers out of him, then."

"Sounds like a plan," Evelyn replied.

"Oh no, Sunshine. You will get blood all over your dress. Besides, you can't hit worth a damn."

"I'm not that bad…"

"You can't even knead dough properly. Cook demoted you to boiling water last month when you tried to help, remember?"

Evelyn sighed, conceding his point. "Yes, I remember." Then she grinned. "But everyone seemed to like the flat bread which irked her even more."

"Probably because the staff was cleaning up the crumbs from dinner for a week."

The moment they entered into the lower level of the apartment they were besieged by more Venatori. Staying behind so she wouldn't ruin her dress, on Varric's insistence, she settled for guarding Cullen and his own attire.

They wouldn't be thought of very highly by the court if they returned to the ballroom with rips, tears, and bloody patches on their finery. While it would cause a sensation, it would be entirely the wrong kind.

"Have I ever told you that I  _like_  your magic?" Cullen spoke as they hurried down a deserted hall. He'd felt the thrum of her magic around him all evening, but when she summoned her barrier to deflect a blow for him he'd gotten a full taste of that crackling sensation that skittered down his spine and to all of his limbs. The enchantment she'd given him had held him over all these months, but he was elated to finally be in the presence of the real thing once more.

She frowned. "No. You haven't."

"Hm. Well I do." At her confused expression he smiled warmly. "I'll explain later."

"Heads up!" Varric called from ahead as the very terribly dressed man made his appearance once more.

* * *

"Then Briala shows up out of nowhere and tries to bribe me with an underground elven army," Evelyn murmured to Leliana who they had relayed the information to once they'd exited the gardens. This night was becoming more crooked than a barrel of snakes.

"I will find Josephine and talk this over with her. In the meantime, you and the Commander get down to the dance floor and see if you can't discover more there. A waltz is the perfect venue for plotting murder."

If Evelyn hadn't known Leliana so well by now, she might have thought that last comment was made in jest.

"Shall we?" Cullen held out his hand for her.

She eyed the growing horde of his admirers critically. "Lead the way."

For all his bluster about not wanting to learn to dance, thinking it a waste of time, and the fear of embarrassing himself, Cullen was quite adept at the skill by the time Hawke had finished him. The few pointers from Peter hadn't hurt either.

 _Think of it like a drill,_  he'd said, and from that moment the steps seemed to string together easily. He couldn't deny that having an excuse to hold Evelyn so closely wasn't a very tempting incentive as well.

His right hand gripped hers, their fingers intertwined as his left rested flat against the small of her back. Cullen couldn't help the desire he had to pull her closer so that her chest molded to his. she didn't seem to mind, either. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed as she smiled up at him. He might've felt like an idiot for smiling back the way he did if it wasn't for the unrestrained look of adoration in her eyes.

How Leliana thought they could get any work done like this was beyond him.

When the dance ended they stood apart to catch their breath a moment. That was when Duchess Florianne approached Evelyn. She had her own partner, though as the music began for the next dance the two women became engrossed in conversation.

Cullen didn't like that their mood had shifted back to business, though he was loathe to admit it. Whether he liked it or not the spell had been broken, and from the way Evelyn stiffened in his arms he suspected her hushed conversation with Florianne had yielded information of some import.

The last song of the set had ended, and with it the Duchess excused herself from the floor. Evelyn made to do the same, though unlike the Florianne, she took her partner by the hand and led him from it.

"She's up to something, Cullen. She knows we've been running around the palace tonight."

Cullen drew her to him, taking her free and in his. "Gaspard's own sister," he mused thoughtfully. "Perhaps he's playing a different angle, though he's very well respected for following his code of honor. Using a relative to wrest control of the empire from Celene seems almost too underhanded."

Evelyn pursed her lips. "We need more information. The assassin will make their move soon. I can feel it."

Not long after Cullen, Varric, Dorian and Evelyn slipped into the royal wing which was now suspiciously unlocked. Varric bemoaned the fact that he hadn't picked one lock inside the palace that night.

"This place has shit security," he'd said as they made their way through the room.

A scream from the room beside them had Cullen rushing in, Dorian close on his heels. Inside another Venatori assassin advanced on a woman who scrambled away on her hands and knees. Evelyn beat Cullen to the punch as he advanced on the man and shield bashed the offender through the open window with her barrier.

Cullen shot her an amused grin over his shoulder. "That's one way to fix a problem."

Dorian helped the elven woman to her feet while she clutched her chest. "Thank the creators you came when you did!"

"Are you hurt?" Evelyn asked.

"No." Her gaze shifted between her companions before resting on Evelyn once more. "I can't believe Briala would do this."

"Briala? She's the reason you're here?"

"Well she's the one that told me to come here, yeah. Servants have been disappearing left and right tonight. I didn't think…" She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "She told me to come in here to look for something."

"Look for what?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know what you were looking for?" This was getting more ridiculous by the minute.

"Look, Briala really wants her plan tonight to work. I don't know exactly what it is, but I suspect she wants me out of the way."

"Why?"

"Because I know she was fucking the queen while the alienages burned on her order. She doesn't care about us. She cares about herself and her personal standing in the court. Briala hides behind the plight of the elves because it suits her, not because she feels any sympathy for us. I know it. She knows I know it, and she knows I'd expose her."

Evelyn frowned while Dorian cleared his throat. "The Inquisition can protect you from the spymaster."

Cullen nodded. "Go find a woman named Cassandra in the vestibule. She will see you safe until we deal with Briala."

She nodded, spewing apologies and thanks before fleeing the room, clearly terrified.

"Well," Evelyn sighed, "we now know Briala isn't as innocent and beguiling as she appears."

"That's the norm in Orlesian politics, Evie," Dorian replied before pausing in front of yet another door. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"Help!"

The call was muffled, but they could hear it plainly once they'd all stopped moving.

"How many damsels in distress are we going to save in one evening?" Varric laughed as he eyed the door. "Hey, this is one of the ones I told you we needed the statuettes for."

"The Halla? I've picked up a few" Evelyn replied, reaching into the bodice of her gown.

Cullen immediately averted his eyes, a blush rising in his cheeks. Maker, had she been carrying everything in there?

She procured at least ten of the small statuettes from the bust of the gown and handed them to Varric who seemed to have no trouble figuring out how to place them into the tiny recesses about the door. With an audible click and a flare of magic the door opened.

Evelyn was not prepared for the sight that greeted them as they walked further into the room.

"How very...Orlesian," Dorian mused.

On the large bed in the center of the room a man was tied by each limb to one of the posts on the frame. He wore nothing but a soldier's helmet which fell haphazardly over his eyes.

"Hello? Help! Get me down!"

"Hang on," Evelyn spoke, trying to keep the laugh out of her voice as she walked to the bedside and began to unfasten one of the bonds while Dorian worked on the other at his wrist. "What happened?"

"I-it's not what it looks like! I mean - I wish it was what it looks like."

Cullen's brows both rose at that. This man had very high hopes indeed.

"Be that as it may," Evelyn tried to steer him back on track, "You haven't answered my question." She released the bond on his hand and lifted the helmet from his head so he could see.

"Uhhh-Well...I…"

She has that effect on me too, Cullen thought sympathetically while Evelyn moved to the man's ankle.

"Celene, she, er, tied me up. I have some, ah, information that she wanted. She got it and then just left me here."

Evelyn's eyes were sharp as she regarded the man. Here she had such high hopes for Celene. It appeared as if no one could run this country without committing some kind of crime. What had happened to honor? Chivalry? Plain old common sense!? She jerked a bit too hard on the rope binding the man's leg, causing him to yelp.

"Sorry. Would you be willing to testify to that if needed? The Inquisition can protect you."

The soldier blinked. "Huh? Oh, sure."

She released him just as Dorian unwound the last of the rope from the soldier's ankle. Cullen handed him one of the discarded bed sheets to cover up with.

"Make yourself decent, then go out to the vestibule and find a woman named Cassandra."

"Try not to let too many people see you." Varric added with a chuckle.

Wrapping himself securely in the bed sheet, he scrambled out of the room in much the same way the elf woman had.

"Well,  _my_ night cannot possibly get any better!" Dorian chimed in cheerfully. "The Orlesians really do play the best bedroom games."

Evelyn snorted, covering her laugh with the back of her hand. "Poor man."

"You surprise me, Sunshine. Here I thought you'd be all blushed and stammers."

She blinked "What, because there was a naked man tied to a bed?"

"Well, yeah."

A small smile unfurled across her lips. "Varric, I'm modest, not a prude. There is a difference."

The dwarf simply shrugged, chuckling to himself as they again attempted to walk further into the wing.

As it turns out saving an elf from being murdered and finding a naked soldier tied to the empress' bed was the least of the problems plaguing the royal apartments that night. They'd stumbled right into a trap set for them by none other than the Duchess who, surprise surprise, worked directly for Corypheus and was the contact that had been mentioned in the letter they'd found in Therinfal all those months ago. Leaving her party to the Fade rift and a host of demons, Florianne made her escape back into the ballroom to make good on the assassination attempt.

By the end of the fight they'd been winded, but sure of the Duchess' plan, and stopped only long enough to release one of Gaspard's men and extract a promise from him that he would speak against the Grand Duke when he was called upon to do so. They ran into a few lingering groups of Venatori, clearing the wing before they all stumbled awkwardly back into the ballroom through a door that had previously been barred shut.

Cullen immediately alerted the inquisition guards posted inside the room while Evelyn broke away from them to intercept Florianne who, when she caught sight of the Inquisitor and her thunderous expression, blanched. Slowly, much like she would a vicious animal, Evelyn approached the Duchess.

Here goes nothing.

She took a deep breath and, in the eyes of the Orlesian court at least, sealed her fate. "We owe your guests one more show, Your Grace."

There was a collective explosion of murmurs all around, and Evelyn swallowed the lump in her throat. She could do this. She had to do this for the people of Orlais.

"Lady Trevelyan?" The Duchess sneered, forgoing Evelyn's title out of spite.

"Careful. Everyone is watching you, Your Grace." Somehow she found the part of her that had been positively enraged earlier at the pathetic games these nobles played. She smiled that disarming little way of hers, walking up to slowly stand on even ground with Florianne. "Remember to smile."

Her responding smile was tight-lipped, eyes shifting about the room for an escape. She found only Inquisition soldiers and the Empress' own guard posted at the doors. "I would...be delighted to speak with you."

Evelyn's smile widened, her voice softening. "Do you remember when you told me all you needed to do was keep me out of the ballroom long enough to strike? It was, oh, about ten or fifteen minutes ago, I suspect."

The Duchess paled further, casting a beseeching look toward her brother who looked just as confused as Celene who stood just above her.

Evelyn pressed onward, crossing her arms over the shimmering fabric of her gown. She looked for all the world like she could be the Empress herself.

"Clearly, you are surprised to see me, no doubt upset that your archers failed to kill me in the garden."

Another explosion of murmurs, this time many a scandalized gasp echoed within the cavernous room. Perfect, Evelyn thought. She needed to expose the Duchess. Humiliate her. It seemed to be the only type of punishment Orlesian nobility understood.

"I am very sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace. You see, I am not used to such grand affairs as these. My backwater, Free Marcher upbringing does me little credit, as I've heard a few say tonight."

Celene cocked her head, assessing, planning.

"Despite my questionable breeding, however, I have discovered tonight that you framed your own brother for the murder of several council emissaries. You bit off a bit more than you could chew of course. Gaspard, Celene, Briala, the Council of Heralds - all of your enemies under one roof. Then there was me. I fear I ruined your perfect plans, Your Grace."

"What is the meaning of this?" Gaspard called, but was silenced by Leliana's quelling glare. Lady Nightingale seemed to appear out of thin air nearby.

"This is all very amusing," Florianne smiled, trying to play off Evelyn's accusations as some kind of farce. She looked up at Celene. "You do not believe this grand story, do you?"

Celene's regal profile remained stoic. "That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin, if the Inquisitor has the evidence she says she does."

"Gaspard?" Florianne was panicking now.

Evelyn remained rooted in place, watching with some satisfaction as the Grand Duke shook his head and backed away.

"I'm sorry sister. If what the Inquisitor says is true, I cannot help you."

Several of Celene's guards approached then and Florianne, delicate flower that she was, collapsed to the ground in a puddle of tears. Did the woman have no self-respect?

"This isn't-!" She cried when the guards lifted her up and restrained her.

"It is, Your Grace," Evelyn put some steel behind her words. "You lose."

When the Duchess had been taken away, Evelyn turned her gaze to Celene, who was watching the proceedings with unsettling passiveness.

"Your Highness, I believe we should speak in private."

Catching her eye Celene nodded and motioned for Evelyn to join her, Gaspard and Briala on one of the outside terraces.

Immediately the three powers that would be began to argue. They assigned blame at anyone but themselves, which only added to Evelyn's mounting anger. To her credit, it was Celene who finally silenced the bickering in favor of actually trying to discuss how to secure her country.

Too little, too late.

"You're all guilty of placing yourself above your charges. Your self-serving policies and plans created the perfect avenue for what happened tonight to occur. If the Inquisition had not been here, I shudder to think what would have happened to Orlais." She ignored their scandalized and, in the case of Celene, furious looks. "You," She pointed at Celene, addressing her much like she might have addressed a petulant mageling back at the Circle, "allowed Gaspard's soldiers inside the palace hoping he would make a stupid mistake and reveal his intentions to be rid of you. You sacrificed the safety of not only yourself, but all those in attendance tonight simply because you are unwilling to call him out on his crap." Gaspard opened his mouth to speak, but Evelyn cut him off. "You are an idiot and fell for it. I met your mercenary captain tonight. Don't play stupid." He shut his mouth with an audible snap.

"Clever move, if you were trying to get hang-"

"Quiet." Evelyn growled forcefully. She had enough of this. "You were playing on both of them. You're nothing but a murdering social climber with a superiority complex."

The elf tried to argue again. Evelyn held up a hand to silence her. "No one will defend any of you once I reveal the information I have recovered from those you have wronged." She cast a pointed look to Briala. "Turning a blind eye while your lover sends an order to burn an entire alienage does not grant one many friends, I imagine."

Celene sighed, straightening her shoulders. "Point made, Inquisitor. What do you want?"

Evelyn looked at the three in turn and tried to remember that often times power was a corruptive and intoxicating force, able to poison the greatest minds. Gaspard and Celene could accomplish so much if they would just shut up and listen to one another.

"I have beaten you at your own game," she spoke evenly. "You will work together and set aside your petty differences or I will return to Orlais and tear the ruling class apart from the inside out." She granted them her easy smile. "Seems rather good incentive to keep the peace, which is all any of us truly want, is it not?"

Celene did not look pleased, but nodded. "A sound threat accompanied by truths we should have been aware of for some time. I will...venture to rectify my own mistakes."

Thank the Maker. There was some hope, at least. Evelyn had liked Celene from the first, after all.

The three made a tentative truce that night on the balcony, and returned to the ballroom to announce their intentions to those present. Evelyn did not join them. She was shaking from the effort of keeping her voice calm. Maker, that was intense. How did the Orlesians stand it?

Josephine and Leliana accosted her moments later.

"You were born for this!" Leliana gushed, a prideful smile gracing her lips. Evelyn was fairly certain that was as close as the spymaster would ever come to hugging her.

Josephine was less impressed. "That was the stupidest, gutsiest move I've ever seen! So much could have gone wrong! We had a plan. Did you even remember it? I gave you an itinerary to memorize for a reason."

The ambassador kept on, but her voice faded into the background as Evelyn spied Cullen at the doorway, looking out at the women with a rather bemused expression. Leliana caught on to the Inquisitor's lack of attention immediately, ushering a still blustering Josephine back inside.

Cullen traded places with them shortly thereafter.

"I believe, my Lady, that you have succeeded in humbling the three most powerful politicians in Orlais with nothing but a stern word."

She blushed, looking away and down into the gardens below. "It was terrifying."

"Terrifying?"

"Absolutely. I'm not used to all of this posturing. I treated an empress like she was an errant mageling that just set a Templar's robes on fire!"

He stifled a laugh. "I think that's what she needed. She could be a much better ruler if given the proper motivation."

She sighed. "I thought so too."

"Yet you seem sad."

She turned to him with a smile. "It's been a long night. I confess the only enjoyable part of the evening was the dance I shared with you."

His grin encouraged her own. "I would have to agree with you on that point."

A comfortable silence stretched between them, but Cullen appeared to be thinking something over in his head. In short order he straightened away from the railing, took Evelyn's hand in his and placed a kiss to her knuckles. "Come with me."

She blinked when he vaulted over the railing, landing ten or so feet below the balcony on one of the terraces that had been off-limits that night.

"What are you doing?" She hissed. "You're not supposed to be down there!"

"I know." He grinned. "But isn't this more of the same of what we've been doing all night?"

She couldn't argue that.

"Come on," he spoke again, holding out his arms. "I'll catch you."

She cast one last look back at the ballroom. No one was paying any attention to her. So it was that she found herself hiking up her skirts and sitting atop the railing before dropping off into Cullen's embrace. He held her there for a moment before allowing her to slide down his body and onto her feet.

Taking her hand, he started away, leading her through an iron gate and along a narrow pathway next to part of the palace she was unfamiliar with.

"Where are we going?"

He chuckled. "A place I found when we were scouting the palace earlier this evening. I thought you might like it."

She couldn't help the smile that blossomed on her lips. "This was planned?"

"You caught me."

Her laugh in response was like music to his ears as he slowed down in front of a rather thick overhang of ivy. Ah, this was the right spot.

He pulled her after him, parting the mass of leafy green with one hand to reveal an overgrown garden. Untamed it might have been, but the flowers that had gone unmanicured had grown wild, giving the space the feeling of a painter's canvas. Tiny riotous explosions of color appeared in every corner, and it was with an awed expression that she released herself from his hold to explore.

"This is amazing!" She breathed. She'd thought the Palace itself was lovely, but it could simply not compare to this wild kind of beauty.

"I thought so too."

Evelyn turned on him with a smile so radiant he was surprised he wasn't struck blind by it then and there. "Thank you!"

Before he knew it she'd thrown her arms around his neck and pressed a firm kiss against his lips. He supposed both of them should have expected that the thankful little gesture would not remain such for long. Slowly, tentatively as they relearned each other after a year apart, the kiss morphed from rather innocent and sweet to something hungrier. Desperate.

His arms came around her, holding her against him at the small of her back as he returned the embrace in kind. Unwilling to simply settle for a kiss this time, Evelyn cleaved her body to his, straddling one of his thighs between her legs as she lifted herself up to his eye level.

Perhaps that slit in her dress had some merit after all.

A small, desirous sound rumbled in Cullen's chest, and he abandoned her lips to brush his own across her cheek and down the soft pale column of her throat. The path caused her flesh to raise at his feather-light touch, her hips pressing into his. Halting at her collarbone, Cullen gently nipped at the feature while his nose settled at the crook of her neck.

He breathed deeply, wanting this to last forever. He wanted to get drunk on her scent and lose himself in it as he took her against the garden's stone wall.

She deserved better.

Grudgingly, he pried his lips away from the tempting skin of her throat and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Evelyn turned abruptly and caught his lips in cheeky retaliation. "What's wrong?"

"This is not quite how I imagined it." He admitted.

"No?" She smiled, nibbling at the stubble on his jaw.

Maker, she was distracting.

"You deserve more than a spur-of-the-moment tumble in the garden, Evelyn. At least, I want to give you more than that - if you'll let me."

She stilled, sliding off of his leg while regarding him with an emotion he found difficult to place. "Do you really need to ask?"

He smiled. "Yes. I'm the kind of man that needs a plan, after all."

Her answering grin put to rest his previous uncertainties. "I was perhaps a bit too impatient."

His ungloved fingers traced a tantalizing path up the underside of her throat, curling beneath her chin so that he could look at her beautiful blue eyes when he spoke. "We will continue this back home."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually quite nervous about the smuttiness of this chapter. I intended it to be a bit vague (I'm not a fan of explicit work) and have a first-touched quality about it. If you have any tips or tricks for me to use in the future, please send me a note. :) Enjoy, friends!

The return trip to Skyhold was uneventful insofar as uneventful in Evelyn's life generally included a distinct lack of life-threatening situations. The Inquisition had, however, acquired one new agent. Empress Celene had offered her occult adviser, Morrigan, to their cause. Leliana was as miffed about the arrangement as Morrigan herself appeared to be, and Evelyn wasn't entirely sure how to approach the woman just yet.

Cullen seemed to recognize Morrigan as well, saying that she had been present when the Hero of Ferelden had freed him from his bondage. Beyond that, he was just as perplexed by her as Evelyn if not considerably more wary. While the lady had not seemed over eager to join the Inquisition, she was gracious enough to let them know that she would be following their party to the keep in two days time. She had a son and few belongings to pack, but Evelyn saw no rush to have her immediately on hand at Skyhold.

The carriage rolled quickly over a stone as it made headway along the road, jostling her against Cullen who steadied her absently with an arm about her waist. It had been a very long night, and everyone it seemed was on the verge of slipping quite ungracefully into the embrace of the Fade. Evelyn herself was feeling the burn around her eyelids as she tried to fend off her drowsiness, and it was only her concern for Cullen that kept her somewhat alert.

The interlude in the garden had been a hurried affair the two hadn't given much thought to at the time. In retrospect, Evelyn felt as if she'd assumed too much of their association. She felt equally uneasy about the way she had insinuated herself into Cullen's personal life. While he'd made no move to correct her, they had not really discussed anything that existed - or didn't - between them.

From the way his arm held her against him, his thumb idly brushing against the silk of her dress as he looked unseeing out the window, she supposed she was simply over thinking the entire matter. Regardless, she felt she had to clear the air.

"I apologize for pulling you into my scheming against Gaspard, Cullen. The rumors that display caused-"

"- don't matter to me," he finished easily. His warm rich voice rumbled in his chest as he tried to keep his voice down for the benefit of their snoozing comrades.

She thought as much, and his immediate deflection of her apology caused her to smile to herself. "So you don't mind that I've more or less announced to all of Orlais that you're mine?"

He shifted his eyes from the scenery outside to regard her with a bemused smile. "Nothing Orlais does or will do short of invading Ferelden will ever gain much interest from me. So I suppose the answer to your question is not. At. All."

When she smiled up at him he could hardly wait to take a quick look about the carriage before capturing her lips in a resounding kiss that left her tongue-tied, among other things.

It was some miles more when she was just beginning to doze that a rather violent shudder emanated from Cullen's body. His arm was tensed around her, almost crushing in its grip as she twisted about from where she reclined against him to see what was wrong.

He was pale, unnaturally so, and shaking so violently the little medals on his formal attire tinkled quietly within the confines of the carriage.

"Cullen?"

Reaching out to brush his hair up over his forehead so she could see his eyes, she was struck by how clammy his skin was. Had he taken ill? Perhaps a lingering spell from one of the Venatori? Either way he had no answer for her with his jaw set tight and his eyes squeezed shut.

With one hand resting at the side of his face and the other gripping his free hand in hers, Evelyn was just about to call for the driver to stop when Cassandra spoke up.

"It will pass."

Evelyn blinked, her hand at Cullen's face attempting to smooth away the rigid set of his brow.

"What will? Has he been sick?"

The Seeker nodded, it was a small and subtle thing that let Evelyn know her friend did not necessarily wish to tell her. For what purpose, she could only guess. Illness was something she could deal with, however. Calling on her abilities, she cloaked the Commander in the soft blue glow of healing energy. Slowly, very slowly, his shaking ceased, his muscles relaxed, and he slumped, exhausted, against her.

She tried very hard not to look frightened. His body suffered no maladies that she could rightly discern, and yet he lay heavily against her like a man recently come out of fever. Cullen was delirious shortly before he was pulled swiftly to the Fade - to sleep.

"Maker, Cassandra, please tell me what's going on!" She hissed, attempting to adjust the crushing weight of his heavy body into a more comfortable position on her lap. Cassandra moved to assist her seeming, for the first time since Evelyn had known her, to be indecisive.

"Forgive me, Evelyn, but it is not my place to tell. I believe Cullen would much rather discuss this with you himself."

* * *

Two whole days had passed since that night in the carriage, and Evelyn had seen hide nor hair of Cullen since. When she asked after him at the war table, both Leliana and Josephine had simply told her he would be well in short order and that there was nothing to worry about.

Fat lot of good that did. How could she not have been concerned for his well-being? After all, it had been she who and shouldered his weight after his episode. She who ran loving, gentle fingers through his hair when he again began to shiver during the ride back to Skyhold.

So it was with a great amount of resolve and trepidation that she finally decided she'd had enough of everyone skirting the issue with her, and made her way across the battlements to where a guard stood in front of Cullen's door.

She'd come before. First, when he had been carried to bed by Bull, a rather undignified arrival back at Skyhold she was sure Cullen would recall with some distaste. She had remained until he slept peacefully, then sought her own bed. The day after that was when she had been gently but firmly turned away by the same man that stood there now. Her subsequent attempts at visiting Cullen had ended in the same fashion.

"Lieutenant Bridgman, I must have a word with the Commander." She drew up to stand before him, invading his personal space just enough to make him a bit uneasy. Evelyn would not take no for an answer. It was simply out of the question. Besides, if the Commander was sick, should not one of the best healers in Skyhold tend to him - especially a healer with such a vested personal interest in his health?

"I'm sorry, Inquisitor, but the Commander asks for no visitors."

She narrowed her eyes a touch at the man. Was she above abusing her authority on this matter?

"Lieutenant, please move."

"My Lady, I cannot-"

"Move." She paused. "Please."

Apparently not. The hard edge to her voice was something the inhabitants of Skyhold were not used to hearing. Void take her, it was not something Evelyn was used to either, but she was so caught up in her worry that she barely thought twice about it before the guard hurriedly stepped aside.

Once she'd crossed the threshold into Cullen's office, she noticed immediately that he was not at his desk. Thinking to check his room, she started for the ladder and placed only one foot on a rung before a soldier, surely no more than twenty years, entered through the tavern-side door.

"Inquisitor?"

"Ah, hello. I was just going up to check on the Commander." Maker help her if this one was going to attempt to waylay her too. She didn't know if she had the fortitude to verbally strong-arm every soldier in Skyhold.

"The Commander is out. He went to speak with Seeker Pentaghast."

Evelyn blinked. Out? But he was sick. She hadn't seen him in days. Surely he was not well - not that she would begrudge him his health. Far from it. She was merely confused at his confounding condition and the ever more complex excuses Leliana and Josephine were gifting her.

Perhaps he didn't want to see her?

No. That was a foolish thought borne of her own insecurity. Cullen was a straightforward man. If he took issue with her, he would have said something. Wouldn't he?

Oh, Maker, sod it all! She hopped off of the ladder and brushed past the young recruit with a 'thank you' and headed across the towering stone wall of the battlements before descending the stairway near the tavern. The motion of walking down a staircase without the hindrance of ten pounds of fabric swishing about her legs was a novel one after the ball. She relished in the close comfort of her doeskin leggings, swearing to herself that Josephine might just have to wrestle her out of them should she decide to fit her for another gown.

A smile and a nod for Harding, she turned the corner and ran smack dab into a bright and shiney silverite chest plate. A small oath escaped her as a hand flew up to rub at the abused tip of her nose, while a pair of very warm, familiar hands steadied her at the shoulders.

"Sorry."

Cullen didn't even look down at her as he breezed by. She frowned. He hadn't even seen her. Something was wrong, and she was going to kill Cassandra with kindness for more information. Perhaps she could be bribed with another volume from Varric's romance serial. Yes, there was a fine plan.

Evelyn watched as the Commander jogged effortlessly up the stairway and back up into his office. The hard set of his jaw giving away his apparent displeasure or discomfort. She wasn't quite sure which.

Rubbing her nose again in an effort to stay the pain, she started toward Cassandra and hoped the Seeker would give her what she wanted without beating around the bush.

As it turned out, Cassandra was far more open to discussing Cullen's personal affairs than she had been originally.

"Stubborn, arrogant, foolish Templar!" The woman snarled, wailing on her preferred practice dummy with great enthusiasm. Were the dummy the man Evelyn thought it was, he'd be missing a head.

"Erm...Cassandra? Do you have a moment?"

Giving the sword-swinging, angry woman a wide berth, Evelyn skirted around her side to face her. The Seeker's gray eyes flicked up to meet the Inquisitor's, and she heaved a great sigh.

"You should know. And keep in mind that I am only telling you this because I believe you can help him."

Straight to business. No pretense. This was one of the many reasons Evelyn loved Cassandra.

Saying nothing, the Inquisitor made a motion with her hand for her friend to continue.

"When Cullen joined the Inquisition and left behind the Order, he ceased administering himself with Lyrium."

Evelyn felt like someone had pulled the proverbial rug out from beneath her. Having been raised in a family full of Templars, she knew the exact ramifications of such an act. Generally Lyrium deprivation was used as the ultimate form of punishment for Templars. She had heard that in many Circles, those who did not obey direct orders were thrown in the dungeon, starved for days until they were half-mad fools. By the time they were released, they were so desperate for Lyrium that they would say anything, do anything. She'd even heard of one instance where a mage and Templar were discovered having carried on an affair. The mage was made Tranquil, while the Templar had been stripped of his Lyrium dosages until he'd become nothing but a crazed, desperate husk of a creature. Then he'd died. Alone. Filthy. Like an animal.

Mages thought they were the only ones who had it rough. They knew little of the Order's private forms of justice. The truth was, both mages and Templars were abused by the Chantry, a fact she was slowly beginning to uncover in her private studies.

Evelyn's face must have shown her fear, for Cassandra moved to placate her.

"Cullen is fine. In fact, he is better than fine. He has survived his withdrawals for two years. I do not know why he now believes he wishes me to find a replacement for him."

Another panicked revelation. Replacement?

"What?"

"I denied him, of course. He is more than fit to carry on his duties. I believe he is simply suffering from wounded pride. He prefers to suffer alone. In silence. Having an episode in front of you, showing his weakness, was not something he had anticipated or desired."

"So he's ashamed?"

"Yes, though I do not know why. Regardless, the reason I am telling you all of this against his wishes is because I believe you can knock some sense into him. While he has withdrawn from many in the keep, I doubt very much that he could stay away from you for long. He respects you, at any rate. Maybe he will listen."

Evelyn worried Michael's ring at her thumb, twisting it nervously around the digit.

"What do I say?"

"Start small," Cassandra smiled, repeating the words she had spoken to Evelyn the day they had discovered Cullen's apology in his office.

Not ten minutes later Evelyn again stood outside Cullen's door, biting her lip in indecision. What would she say? What could she say? Everything she'd come up with so far had seemed empty, hollow, soulless platitudes better suited for comforting a child than a warrior of considerable merit.

Shifting on her feet, she took in a fortifying breath and opened the door. He stood with his back to her, perusing correspondence on his desk before she drew closer and realized that he was considering his Philter. She did not wish to invade his private thoughts, so she rounded to his side quietly, noting the painful expression of simultaneous disgust and longing tightening his handsome features.

Oh,  _Cullen_.

Abruptly he slammed the lid closed, rattling the glass implements inside before carelessly shoving it off the desk. The box was made of sturdy stuff, at least, for only the lid crack when it came into contact with the stone wall after it skittered over the floor.

Perhaps that display would have frightened her when she had first known him, but now she recognized it for what it was. He was a confused and frustrated man dealing with considerable responsibility while also shouldering the debilitating side effects of Lyrium withdrawal - and he was doing it all on his own.

"I thought I told Bridgman no visitors."

His words were gruff, but there was no bite in them. He sounded exhausted.

"He turned me away several times. I got tired of it and let myself in."

Something of a smile quirked at the corner of his lip. That was something, at least.

"I'm sorry. I didn't- I couldn't-" He shook his head. "I'm making a fool of myself."

One moment she was a few paces away. In the next she had thrown her arms about his waist, pressing her forehead against the cool metal encasing his chest.

"I believe in you, Cullen. Even if you doubt yourself, I'll believe enough for both of us."

Cullen couldn't help the adoring, albeit tired, smile he regarded her with just then.

"I was an inconsiderate ass to keep you out."

"I will not argue that point."

His chuckle was a low rumble that suffused her being with joy. Lifting her head, she rest her chin against his breastplate and smiled up at him. "Cassandra spilled the beans."

"I figured. I shouldn't be surprised."

"Do you...really need to step down?"

He hesitated, clearly mulling the question over. "My resolve comes and goes. That's what bothers me most." His arms tightened around her, as if she were a lifeline. "I refuse to undermine the Inquisition with my own weakness. I will not give her -  _you_ \- less than I gave the Chantry. It- I- Maker…"

"Because I don't think you can walk away from this now." Evelyn added quietly, watching his expression. It was painful to see the wide array of emotions pass over his features, not the least of which being sadness and fear.

He sighed. "You're right. I can't but I don't want to be a detriment - a burden."

"You're not and you won't be. You've hauled the Inquisition out of plenty of tight spots - usually kicking and screaming all the while. You have a good head on your shoulders and I trust your judgement."

"You give me too much credit."

"I'm not nearly giving you as much as you deserve," she argued, hands coming up to rest on his breast plate. "I will not beg you to remain, though I'm close. This is your decision to make." Using her hands as leverage, she rose up on her toes and brushed her lips against his. "But when you do make a decision, please come find me, alright?"

He nodded, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of her head before releasing her from his hold. "It's a promise."

He was rewarded with another of her brilliant smiles before she hugged him fiercely once more and left his office.

* * *

Evelyn desperately needed something to occupy her mind. She had simply done what came to her, and perhaps that was not the wisest course of action. That being said, it was not in her to force the issue of Cullen remaining at the head of the Inquisition's army, nor was it her decision to make. She would not ask him to resume taking Lyrium either. After his horrific experience at Kinloch hold, his subsequent "recuperation" at Greenfell likely constituted larger Lyrium doses that would obscure and tamper with his memories. It was only speculation, but such had happened to her father for a time before he'd discovered a lay sister ministering to the Circle had deliberately meddled with his Philter. It also seemed a logical course of action if Cullen was as disturbed as he had let on, though Evelyn balked at the notion of using Lyrium as a weapon. In this regard it had served the purpose of soothing his ire, but at what price?

She recalled the feverish, shuddering man she'd held in her arms all the way back to Skyhold, and truly debated with herself the virtues of Lyrium abuse over that of simple human interaction. Honestly, there were none. The Antivans had clinicians who spent their entire lives studying the trappings of the mind and human behavior. At their most dangerous, she heard they simply provided a variety of herbal remedies to assist in the healing process of the mind. It was not a quick fix like Lyrium was for Templars, but the fastest path was not always the wisest.

A solemn sigh left her lips. There was little she could do about it now. It was not as if she could turn back time and save Cullen. Besides, if this was in the Maker's plan, then she could scarcely rail at him. For all his trials and tribulations, Cullen had come out, if not unscathed, then much the stronger. He'd seen the dark truth of their reality, but it didn't blacken his heart. For that she was both incredibly grateful and a little awed at his perseverance.

It was ridiculous that he should feel ashamed when all this did was make her respect him more. She imagined anyone would feel the same.

"Evelyn!"

The Inquisitor looked up from the door leading into the rotunda, seeing Kara springing up from Solas' couch with a grin. Kara wasn't the only young mage in Skyhold, but she was the only one her age which led to...complications where control was concerned. Feeling the young girl her responsibility, Evelyn had taken it upon herself to school her in the art of restraint.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised when the other powerful mages of her inner circle showed an interest in the girl. She had yet developed any sort of aptitude for a particular branch of magic, and thus was exposed to numerous - and quite valuable - lessons ranging from simple elemental magics to necromancy.

Lord Trevelyan had been downright opposed to that last one.

"Kara," Evelyn greeted with a warm smile. "You're here early."

"Enchanter Solas gave me a book on spirits. He says I should only read it here."

The elf nodded at Evelyn's curious look with a bemused smile. She agreed with his idea. It was high time Kara began learning the particulars of the Fade and all those who dwelled within. It would prepare her as she grew older, and temptations increased in number. As far as limiting her study area, well, not every member of Skyhold was as open to treating spirits like people as Evelyn or Solas.

As if on cue, Cole appeared on the scaffolding beside where Evelyn stood, lounging at the juncture between crossbeams.

"Are you going to play today?"

Kara jumped on that suggestion faster than Evelyn could blink.

"Oh, yes! Let's play the ward game!"

Laughing to herself, Evelyn figured this was the best distraction she could hope for. "Alright. You better go get Dorian. I doubt he'll want to miss this."

" _Enchanter_  Dorian!" Kara corrected blithely as she disappeared up the library stairwell.

* * *

Samson narrowed his eyes at the Inquisitor as she and her band of mages descended into the wasted ballroom beneath Skyhold. No doubt the lot of them were training the youngest to follow in their footsteps. This, however, was not what bothered him about Evelyn Trevelyan. It was the fact that she was still among the living that irked him so. Could the woman simply  _not die_?

Shadow had been very reassuring in her missive from the Winter Palace that she would find a way to dispose of the troublesome woman without raising much of a fuss. Florianne was a decent actress, after all. Though Samson could not say much for her taste in code names. Shadow was just a touch dramatic for his liking. A thespian she was to the core, she apparently still had issues with delivery as the Inquisitor was still very much not disposed of. In fact, she looked more vibrant and amiable as ever.

This would not do. They needed to find a way to sweep the Inquisition from the board and soon, but with so many in attendance at Skyhold, taking down the Commander or the Inquisitor was nigh impossible. So far he had altogether dismissed going after Cullen. The man was far too wary and formidable to take down quickly. That left only the woman. She was the one Corypheus really wanted, after all. Her marked hand was the only thing standing between his comrades and wholesale victory if one were to come to the crux of the problem.

Bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, he sighed. Florianne had one damned job.

For all his irritation that the debacle at the Winter Palace had not taken down the Inquisitor, there was yet hope. Samson, in a rare fit of unease, had formulated a second plan. He'd run it by Teague in the event that Florianne failed, now that she had, he found himself warming to the idea. It would solve the Trevelyan problem quite neatly, he thought.

Envisioning tying off a Satinalia present with a complicated bow, he stalked off to find the brother. Aaron. Aaron was his name and, it seemed, he still had a bone to pick with his sister.

* * *

Evelyn shifted her foot to the left, reaching out with all of her senses in an effort to detect the ward Solas had placed. The man was very adept at leaving only the barest hint of a trail of magic by which to recognize the ward, which left those not adept at such a concentrative task sitting on the sidelines watching her and Dorian tip toe around like a pair of sneaky cutpurses.

Several of the damnable things had been set in the field the mages had all agreed upon, and the goal of the exercise was to traverse the length of the designated space to the other side where Adair stood observing the game. Kara had done well, but at the magic trail of the wards faded, she'd lacked the ability to sense their presence and had fallen to a rather humorous freezing spell. Regardless of whether she failed or not, this would teach her concentration and discipline while also being quite fun.

Certainly Dorian and Evelyn were having a fun time of it, the former throwing cutting remarks over his shoulder to distract the Inquisitor. He was just a few feet ahead, yet he acted as if he'd already won with all the posturing and gloating. Maker, how did Cullen stand playing chess with him? It was all Evelyn could do not to nudge him into a ward.

"You see? This is what separates the Altus from you  _commoners_ ," he tossed back, fancying himself witty.

"Commoners?" Evelyn laughed. "Were you not saying just the other day that you and I are blood relatives?"

"Your nobility means nothing in Tevinter unless I proclaim it so!" Dorian sniffed imperiously, clearly putting on a show.

The friendly barbs between the two continued on in such a fashion, drawing a mix of eye rolls and smiles from their companions. Cole was the only one to lack such expression, but he filled his time making vague observations to Lord Trevelyan who tolerated the boy with ease. His being a spirit apparently did not fluster the old Knight Commander one bit, and Cole was keen to capitalize on the lack of fear of his being. The two were in the midst of a full-blown conversation when Cullen quietly stepped in, forgoing his armor at this evening hour in favor of more comfortable attire.

The Commander's condition, all but the very specifics at least, was no secret after his unceremonious arrival back at Skyhold. All kept the incident to themselves. Everyone but Cullen knew how prideful he was about his fitness for his position. It was probably one of the reasons he was so ready to hand it off to someone else when he assumed he'd somehow dishonored the role. So it was that Adair only quietly inquired after his rest and nothing more.

"I am...better," he said softly, unwilling to disturb the two mages jabbing at each other freely now as they concentrated on their feet. Cullen had absolutely no idea what they were doing, but if Lord Trevelyan was here he assumed everything was under control.

Not that he doubted Evelyn's judgement. He inwardly winced at that small falsehood. Old habits died very hard no matter how much you trusted someone.

Adair simply nodded in reply, tipping an ear to Cole when the spirit began speaking.

"It hurts. It hurts! Will this never end? Will I never be whole without this poison burrowing inside m-"

"Cole," Adair's voice was firm and gentle, though there was a warning note that the spirit instantly heeded.

"Sorry. He thinks so  _loud_!"

Cullen snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. He was loud, was he? Good thing the spirit didn't air  _all_  of his thoughts, he decided as his gaze fell on Evelyn.

On that note, Cullen made to engage her father in conversation. He meant to thank Evelyn for her support earlier despite his boorish behavior, but did not want Lord Trevelyan to get the wrong idea about how Cullen viewed her. While it was awkward and embarrassing, he would hold his own. He owed her that much.

In the middle of the hushed conversation between the two Templars, a resounding pop and flash of heat immediately halted their dialogue. They looked as one toward the sudden rush of magic, the intensity of which felt abrasive against Cullen's tender nerves.

"What the devil! Solas, you blackguard! You singed my mustache!" Dorian was beside himself, furiously patting out the tiny licks of flame that burned steadily on his clothes.

Evelyn broke out into peals of heartily amused laughter, holding her stomach as Dorian pinned her with an accusing glare. Half of his mustache was gone.

Upon noticing his thoroughly ruined, previously immaculate facial hair, she snorted and began to laugh even harder.

"Y-you look utterly ridiculous!" Evelyn wheezed, sinking to the floor as she was overcome with giggles.

Unfortunately, she'd neglected to notice a ward placed near her, and with another loud pop she found her legs encased in ice.

"Ha! Justice! Karma strikes down the villain who would kick a man when he's down!"

Despite her shivering, another look at his half-mustache had her giggling again around chattering teeth.

"A-at l-least I d-don't have t-to sh-sh-shave!"

Solas rolled his eyes at their banter, removing the only remaining ward on the field as he looked askance at Kara.

"Do you see what happens when you allow yourself to become distracted, Da'len?"

The girl smirked. "I lose my facial hair or get turned into a living iceberg?"

He smiled despite her sarcasm. "More or less. You should run home to dinner."

Recognizing the dismissal when she heard it, Kara rose and skirted her shivering instructor. Though as she headed for the stairs she detoured to Cullen, having been worried about him ever since her brothers told her how the Commander had arrived home. The man was her hero, after all. He'd saved her life, given her a second chance, and a family to call her own.

"Ser Cullen?"

Cullen regarded Kara warmly, surprised at how much she'd grown in just one year. "Kara. How have you been?"

"Well, thank you. My studies have been…" She looked back over her shoulder at Evelyn and Dorian. The latter helping the former out of her icy predicament. "...enlightening."

Cullen chuckled, disarmed when she hugged him around the middle with a tight squeeze. He was loathe to realize he was tender enough for her embrace to actually cause him some discomfort. Kara released him a moment later to say "I hope you're feeling better now!" before trotting off to seek out her siblings and her dinner.

"She's a very sweet girl, if a little reckless," Evelyn smiled. She stood before him with her arms crossed, probably in an effort to stave of the lingering chill of the icy spell she'd triggered.

Sweet, but reckless. He snorted, thinking of just who Kara reminded him of, if considerably shorter and far less irritating. It was then he noticed the others had filed out of the room, and only Lord Trevelyan lingered long enough to pin Cullen with a look that spoke volumes to the ex Templar. He was sure most of it was threatening.

Of course, the silent exchange didn't go unnoticed by Evelyn, who turned on him with brow raised, ready to ask him to elaborate. He beat her to the punch.

"I have chosen to stay," Cullen began quickly before he started to stammer, "and I asked your father's permission to court you."

Evelyn blinked. Given her rough start to the day, she hadn't anticipated that. Well, she'd expected that Cullen would stay - counted on it even - but…

"Court me?"

He brought a hand up to the back of his neck, a sure sign he was nervous if the cagey look in his eye wasn't clue enough.

"Well, yes. I mean- That is if you want to. You see I'm a little old fashioned and I wanted to be sure that everything was going to be alright with-"

Evelyn silenced him by raising herself up on her toes to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "It's fine. I was just surprised." She grinned at him. "And you're staying which is even better."

Cullen couldn't help the laugh that echoed quietly around the room. " _That's_ better?"

"Cullen, don't think I could do this without you."

That was a truth if there ever was one. Despite their rocky start damn near despising one another, Cullen had slowly evolved into a companion. Steadfast, honest, and good-hearted, he'd then become something more. They'd danced around the issue, not bothering with awkward clarifying conversations or frivolous, flowery words to define what they shared. It was something understood between the two of them. Now, however, he'd made his intentions incredibly transparent.

She understood now the hard look her father had given Cullen before he'd left the two alone, and tried not to laugh at the memory of his protective glare.

"So, what did he say?"

"Hmm?" Cullen had become distracted watching her. Her face was expressive even as she stood silent. One could practically see the cogs of her brain turning about in the way her cheeks flushed and how she drew her lower lip between her teeth. Maker, she was beautiful.

"You said you asked my father if you could court me. What did he say?"

She was smiling in that way that made his heart pound against his rib cage and unable to resist smiling in return. Carefully, he reached out to take her hand in his and draw her to him where she stood so close he could feel the heat of her body.

"If you must know," he spoke softly, brushing his lips against her cheek, "he said yes. Mostly."

She frowned despite the feeling of his lips trailing tiny kisses over her skin. "He threatened you?"

"No. He just made his expectations of me very clear. Which brings me to the second reason I came down here."

"Oh?"

"I have some dealings in Ferelden. It's negligible business, really, and I could make the trip myself." He pulled away from her to meet her eyes, the question already clear. "Well, I was hoping you would like to join me."

"You and I, no one else?"

"Correct."

"Where exactly are we going?"

"A small village still recovering from the Blight called Honnleath. It's my intention to secure a couple more blacksmiths from there. They're apparently the best in Ferelden, and we are having trouble enough as it is keeping our soldiers adequately supplied."

"When are we leaving?"

Cullen considered that a moment. He was still weakened, but the symptoms were getting better.

"We will leave midweek. Dawn?"

"Alright." Evelyn hesitated before she spoke again. "You're sure you're well enough for the trip?"

He grimaced, hating that his physical capability to perform his duty was being questioned, but he could understand her concern. "I will be fine so long as we don't ride in a carriage where Lyrium is being held."

Her face whitened with the realization. "Maker, that's my fault! It was a gift from one of the noble houses I'd made contact with at the palace."

He shook his head. "It's alright. You didn't know, and Cassandra hadn't been informed of its location until after the fact. If I had been more forthcoming with you then I wouldn't have put myself in that position. Besides, I should have said something once I realized what was happening. It sneaks up on me but I...know the signs by now."

A small shudder wracked his body at the memory, and Evelyn immediately placed her hand against the soft leather coat at his chest. Healing magic bled slowly through his body, but it helped with the aches and the persistent headache behind his eyes. Unlike the magic he felt from the wards Solas had placed, Evelyn's energy didn't split and fray his nerves. It soothed and calmed him in an instant, and he was grateful for the reprieve from the worst of his symptoms.

"I meant what I said, Cullen." Her words were muffled against his shoulder when she lay her head there a moment later, hand still glowing faintly on his chest. "I believe in you - and I'm sorry," she added in a quieter voice.

* * *

The morning they left for Honnleath was surprisingly warm given that Winter had just begun to set in. While Leliana had lamented their opposition to accompanying guards, they'd reached a compromise by allowing a few of her scouts to follow and precede them on their trip. Cullen appeared fine with it since they'd not seen even a glimpse of Inquisition colors on their chosen path. Evelyn's father had been surprisingly tolerant of the excursion, and appeared to be more accepting of Cullen then he let on. In a fit of curiosity, Evelyn had asked him about his talk with her commander shortly before they had left, to which Adair had only said that Cullen was a decent sort.

"You're from Honnleath, are you not?" Evelyn asked as they crossed over an old wooden bridge. The stream below was at low water, likely from the harder frosts the mountains were seeing this time of year.

"I was born and raised there, yes. My family is no longer in residence, however. They fled to South Reach during the Blight and didn't come back. Part of me thinks my sister talked them into staying. She always did love larger towns. South Reach is closer to Denerim as well."

"Which sister?"

"Mia. I don't think Meeghan would've cared either way. As long as she could wander off and shirk her chores she'd be comfortable anywhere."

"Sounds like someone I know," Evelyn laughed. "Peter sent word while you were ill, by the way. He's returned safely to Griffon Wing Keep and plans to scout further north with Hawke."

Peter had left shortly after the situation at the Winter Palace had calmed down. While he would have liked to go on with Evelyn, their father was still in residence at Skyhold. She didn't think that was the only reason he was in a hurry to get back west, though. He hadn't mentioned anything, but her brother was more aloof than usual. Peter was never really the type to get lost in thought.

"Excellent. We were preparing to inspect another ruin in the Approach when I had to leave."

"Do you miss it?"

"The Approach?" He laughed outright, his cheeks flushed and eyes alight. It was a far cry from the pale, withdrawn man he'd been a few days prior. "Maker, no! I did enjoy being out in the field, though. I always do."

"What was it like?"

"Hot. Sunny. I had sand in places I didn't even know could get sand in them."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "That sounds awful."

"That part definitely was," He agreed as he drew his mount closer beside hers. Their knees were near touching. "I noticed Skyhold has changed quite a bit since I left. You've been very busy."

She blushed, feeling a little bashful at the praise. She had only done what she deemed appropriate with the approval of Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra.

"You would be surprised how many of the refugees from Redcliffe joined us."

"And the Avvar?"

"Volunteered after Bull, Blackwall, Solas and I kicked the snot out of one of their leader's sons."

His brows rose at that. "And we have an entire Circle's worth of mages."

"I did some favors for them in the Anderfels. Did you know Barris is actually quite influential with mages? He's very calm."

Cullen was smiling now. "You've really grown into your role, Evelyn. It suits you."

"It's everyone's doing, not just mine."

" _That_  is one of the reasons I'm so fond of you."

She looked up at him with a slow smile. "Tell me the others."

"The reasons? Gladly."

They'd reached the village by midday and discovered there was little for them to do before the dinner hours. The innkeeper instructed them - after they'd paid to board their horses for the night, of course - to wait until the evening when most of the working folk arrived there to unwind from a long day. It would allow them to recruit from one venue, as opposed to traipsing about the countryside from farm to farm.

It really was sound advice, Evelyn thought, even if it had Cullen grumbling about how he absolutely did not  _traipse anywhere_.

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" Evelyn asked, gesturing around at the center of the village while they walked slowly along a well-worn footpath.

"The inn is in the same place, but it's new." Cullen glanced around, lost for a moment in a memory. "Everything else is new. I wonder if our barn is still standing."

"We could find out."

"If you don't mind the walk."

When she shook her head that she didn't mind at all, he took her hand and led her further down the path, cutting across a field and then turning down one of the fences. It was a path he obviously knew, and one he must have walked a thousand times or more in his youth. When they'd crested a small, grassy hill, they looked down onto another field where a large sun-bleached barn and house stood.

The smile that graced Cullen's face when he saw it Evelyn thought she would never forget for as long as she lived.

"It's still there! The Darkspawn didn't tear it down. Come on. There's something I want to show you."

Evelyn tagged along, enjoying this almost boyish aspect to Cullen's demeanor. Though he was by no means old, when he smiled like this he looked ages younger. He was more excited than she'd ever seen him, and preceded her down the hill and along the fence of the property that'd once been his home as a boy. Someone else lived there now if the shaggy herd of cows munching away on the grass was any indication. They watched Cullen and Evelyn with unperturbed and yet watchful dark eyes, resuming their meal when the couple had passed to a safe distance.

When Cullen finally came to a stop they stood inside the treeline in front of a large pond. Surrounding the feature were a multitude of grasses and small wildflowers that merged onto the shore with reeds, cattails, and then finally waterlilies on the water itself.

"I used to swim here with my siblings in the summers, and would come here to be alone at night," Cullen explained. He looked comfortable here. At home.

"It's a peaceful place. Why come alone?"

He sighed. "I had a terrible speech impediment when I was a boy. I didn't speak at all until I was about four or five. When I did, I stuttered, and you know how being different from other children pans out."

She did, but at least by the time she understood the stigma she was already in the Circle and among her peers. They understood her and her magic. It must have been difficult for Cullen to withstand what she could only imagine would be some awful teasing.

"How did you get past it?" Sure, she noticed at times he could become a bit tongue tied, but nothing like a stutter.

A wry grin kicked up one edge of his mouth. "Singing the Chant, actually. My mother would clean us all up the best she could and drag us to the Chantry once a week. When she discovered I was following along with the Revered Mother during service she encouraged me to go more often. That's when I discovered the Templars. The rest is history."

Evelyn smiled warmly at him. "You plan ahead everything that you say in a conversation, don't you?"

He blushed. "Yes. When I don't conversation can be...halting."

She shrugged, tugging him down with her to sit at the bank of the pond. "I don't mind it." Evelyn paused. "Was it hard for you to leave? Weren't you nervous about the risks?"

"No. Not really. I hadn't given the dangers much thought. Glory and duty are all very glamorous to a young boy eager to get out and explore the world. In fact, that's something I try to impress upon the Inquisition's would-be recruits. I have to live with my mistake."

She frowned over at him, trying to discern his meaning.

"Don't get me wrong, I truly enjoyed being a Templar at Kinloch Hold until the mage uprising. You know from what I've told you that I was angry at first, but when they sent me away to calm down, that's when I noticed just how far the Chantry would go to exercise control over their military. Transferring me to Kirkwall only began to support my ideals. Meeting Hawke was the last push I needed to realize that glory was only something you read about in fairy tales. In reality you attain praise by having the blood of innocents on your hands. Duty is what you do to stay alive. If you don't do exactly as the Chantry says, someone threatens to cut back your Lyrium. It's a death threat, no matter how pretty their words are. Many good men turn murderer at the order of their Knight Commanders or at the influence of a social climbing Sister or Brother. Ultimately it's the decision of each individual to act on their orders, but backing someone into a corner is no way to invite their devotion. It breeds dissent and leads us to where we see the Templars now."

Evelyn placed a hand on his arm, regarding him with her steady, warm, calm gaze.

"Warriors have to be ready to kill and die for their beliefs. If they aren't, then there's no point in having them. Guilt and hatred will eat away at their spirit until there is nothing left."

"I agree," she said. She'd never guessed Cullen carried this weight around with him, but no matter how torturous his past was it made him the man he was today. Because of his past he was an excellent man to be commanding their forces. He understood the dark places someone's mind could take them, and he endeavored to protect those who may not be up for the task of dealing with a soldier's life as he was.

"While you were away I had to send off a few letters of condolence to family members. Josephine told me to say that they died with honor. I found myself wondering exactly what that meant when we send them to their deaths."

The mood had sobered considerably as the pair of them lay back in the tall grass, each regarding the clouds that moved lazily overhead with a mixture of emotions. Cullen was at ease with the simple fact that she was laying here next to him without duty or pretense getting in the way, but the specter of the unknown loomed up before him. He'd grown used to the feeling, but it was clear from the abrupt and heavy silence that Evelyn hadn't given their mortality much thought.

Why would she? She was not a warrior to face the spirit of fate each day. While there was no question that she held great respect for the perils they faced, she had simply been reared in an environment where the struggle to survive was not as pervasive among the nobility.

Cullen sat up, looking down on her with a gentle smile. "Perhaps we should head back to the inn and get something to eat. You'll feel better."

She frowned. "Food will not bring the dead back, Cullen."

"No, but it'll lift your spirits. I promise."

Evelyn let out a long-suffering sigh, eyes finally shifting up to regard him as he peered over her. The curls he'd neglected to address after her compliment at the Winter Palace fell over his forehead, making him look less structured, soft, and very much the physical manifestation of the Cullen she had come to know. It stood in stark contrast to the man his army knew, she reflected wryly.

"I'm honestly not hungry."

His smirk was so devilish she could practically see the horns growing out of his head.

"I could help you work up an appetite."

The sudden rush of blood to her face colored her the shade of a tomato.

"What? Here? Didn't you have something against tumbles and flowers?"

"It's private here. We don't have a bunch of Orlesians staring down their noses at us. Unless you don't want to," he said looking a bit embarrassed.

She hated that expression. Sitting up, she made to draw him back down to the grass with her. "No. There's no problem. I want-"

He silenced the rest of her words in what was fast becoming a habit of his - a kiss so hot it set fire to her blood. Maker,  _yes._ This would certainly lift her spirits.

Head spinning at the warmth of his body yielding against hers, she relished the stabilizing force of his arms as they banded around her waist. He had just taken her from a devastating emotional pitfall to something she suspected would feel very much like standing at the top of a mountain or flying on the back of a dragon.

He left her breathless and awestruck with the force of his affection, and it was when he began to trail reverent little kisses down her throat that she realized no one had ever held her like this before.

Like she was the only person in the entire world that existed. Precious. Loved.

The man that held her was a being unlike any she'd encountered through the course of her life. He was strict, fastidious, and demanding while at the same time in possession of such a gentle nature she often felt as if she would weep for his past suffering. He'd protected her, educated her, and stood beside her with the unerring patience enviable of Andraste herself. Before she had met him, she'd lived her life with the single-minded pursuit of knowledge and peace. She'd never desired more until him. She'd never wanted to be more until she saw herself reflected in his eyes, and now with his constant and reassuring presence she was one of the most influential women in Thedas if Leliana's reports were to be believed.

If she had to die, she thought, she did not want to leave this world not knowing this man in every possible way. She would be selfish. She would take this for herself and make it uniquely hers - something to remember should the worst come to pass for either of them. Evelyn wanted to die with Cullen's touch forever branded on her skin.

Perhaps for the first time in her life she felt like she was making a choice not out of duty or obligation, but was making a choice for herself and taking exactly what she wanted.

Mages and Templars were never meant to be together, but she didn't care.

She knew herself now thanks to the Inquisition. She knew her limits. She knew her strengths. Evelyn would decide her own fate and never again allow anyone to rule over her, but until Corypheus showed his ugly mug there was little to do - little to do but claim the one man who meant everything to her.

Cullen growled against Evelyn's lips as he felt the change in her kiss. She'd slid her arms about his neck and held him to her, pulling him down with her back onto the sweet-smelling grass that had cushioned them all evening. She took control of him in a way he'd only momentarily entertained in his dreams, and his senses spun at the forceful crackle of her magic as she tugged his lower lip between her teeth.

A man could die happy this way.

He didn't know it at the time, but he'd been craving this kind of touch, this embrace, since the moment she'd knocked him on his ass back at Skyhold. Every fiber of his being stood at attention as he hungered for her with frightening intensity. When she pulled away he felt instantly deprived of her, but he caught the look in her eyes as her sapphire-colored gaze melded into his. He held his breath, waiting for her to speak. Instead, she held his gaze as she began to unfasten the ties to his tunic. Cullen felt himself harden in response, and when she had finished loosening the fabric she ran her delicate long-fingered hands over the tense muscles of his torso. The nimble, gentle caress sent shivers racing up his spine.

In that moment he had come undone, and he knew there was no return from where they were headed.

"Is this something you truly want?" He breathed against the flesh of her collar.

"Yes."

"Are you-?"

She used his own tactic against him, and cut him off by kissing him dizzy.

Well that was one way to answer his question. Cullen simply did not want to be something Evelyn would regret. Ever. He'd rather die.

Reassured by her assertiveness. He broke their kiss only to toss aside his tunic, leaving his upper body bared to her.

There was definitely something to be said about the way her eyes scoured his body so appreciatively. As a healer she may have seen her fair share of naked men, but the way she regarded him he was left with the distinct impression that the look she was giving was especially for him.

Could he love her any more?

The answer was yes, in fact. She'd taken the lull between embraces to divest herself of her own shirt and pretty much any chance he had of resisting her - not that there had been one to begin with - evaporated at the sight of her bared chest. He'd known she was beautiful from the first, but this intimate exposure was new for them in this relationship. Despite the slight nervousness they shared, it took only the brush of her fingers against his cheek coupled with the excited pulse of her magic for him to drop his head to her and worship her with his tongue.

The heat of his breath against her cool flesh caused her to shiver bodily, and each stroke of his tongue stoked the flames of her desire for him until they smoldered with a blistering intensity. Though she had lovers in the past, she'd never felt anything quite like this.

Before either of them had paused to think, the remainder of their clothing had been taken off and tossed away to some unknown plat of the bank. Cullen returned to lay over her, cleaving his body to hers in an effort to purge any distance between them. With care, he gently repositioned her thighs to grip either side of his waist while he tortured her with another series of stimulating nips along her neck.

Only Cullen could ever be so ruggedly gorgeous with his mess of golden curls falling over his forehead. Biting her lip, Evelyn reached up to run her fingers through the soft locks, suddenly gripping him to her at a particularly pleasurable flick of his tongue against her.

"Maker!"

She felt rather than saw the smirk that curled his lips against her skin and the chuckle that rumbled through his chest.

"You're pulling a little tight on me there, beautiful." He allowed the slow drawl of his accent to caress her bare skin, wracking her with another shiver.

"Sorry!" Evelyn muttered releasing the rather firm grip she'd held on his hair.

Freed, Cullen placed a kiss to the tip of her nose, then again to her lips and before long the couple found themselves embroiled in another languid kiss that was fast becoming a heated battle of wills. Never one to do anything by half measures, Cullen deftly encircled her wrist with his fingers, leading her hand to where he craved her touch most. Her unafraid grip had him seeing stars, and it was with the barest hint of self control that he managed to hitch one of her legs over his hip.

"Do you see what you do to me?" he breathed against the shell of her ear.

Her answering, breathless moan shredded what was left of his restraint. Evelyn's quivering, wet body welcomed his with a shudder, and the sensation of her velveteen heat encompassing him forced his head to her shoulder with a blissful groan.

Her reply tapered into a small gasp when he began to thrust against her in earnest. Pleasure rippled through her entire body as Cullen took her slow and easy, the action only heightening the sense of intimacy they both shared. This was not just some physical act in a bid for release. It transcended that, and connected them on a level neither of them had previously explored or experienced with past partners. It was affirmation of their regard for one another and, come what may, the knowledge that they would see this through together.

It was a profound feeling.

With Evelyn, Cullen didn't feel like a broken man shuffling through life wearing the scars of his past like rags. He didn't suffer through his withdrawals, but endured them. In her eyes he would be a hero, and some days he really felt like one.

How idiotic was that?

She was the most important thing in the world to him, he thought, his body convulsed as he pressed into her with a shudder. Her legs tightened around his waist as she followed him.

He wanted to stay like this forever.


	14. Chapter 14

They'd returned with enough smiths to lighten the considerable load Harritt and his apprentices had shouldered since the Inquisition's inception. If the uncharacteristic gleam of Cullen's recently inspected mail was any indication, their taciturn master blacksmith was well pleased. While the smiths were certainly a welcome addition, Cullen found he appreciated the trip to Honnleath for a rather different and selfish array of reasons. Reasons that, he found with a small smile, continued to multiply every day he was in her company.

Surprisingly, nothing had outwardly changed about their relationship but for the casual touches when they found themselves in company. Passing in the hall generally meant that he would feel her nimble fingers ghost across the back of his hand. At meal times they would sit beside one another, her ankle hooked around his beneath the table. The war room was probably the most frustratingly formal place they had to be with one another, and even there they found their fingers brushing against one another in passing missives or place holders. For a short while he'd figured she'd no idea the kind of electric heat she sent coursing through his blood at all of those simple gestures, but as with most of his assumptions regarding Evelyn, he was wrong.

Despite the physical overtures they made, it was indeed difficult to find time alone as their cause gathered more momentum and strength throughout Thedas.

He missed their meetings in the ballroom now more than ever - back when the friction between them had formed a spark. Now he was burning with want of her, and he found he relished walking through the fire.

Cullen's thoughts turned to the night before - to the heated debate they'd had in the war room over her latest mission.

He'd scoffed down at his parchment, gripping his quill in lingering frustration. Mission, indeed.

Evelyn's father had received word of an encampment of Templars in the Exalted Plains who, for whatever reason, had not allied themselves with the Red Templars or the Inquisition. Normally Cullen would have been just as curious about the information, were it not for the man who had delivered the missive. Samson was not to be trusted nor, he had grumbled to himself, was he all that knowledgeable about Templar movements . He had given the man his post back in Kirkwall at Hawke's urging, but it was clear the lack of Lyrium had altered his perspective far beyond that which Cullen would have considered normal. He'd shuddered, remembering the man's dilated, wide eyes when he'd given him a draught of Lyrium. That had unnerved him to his core.

Despite Samson's shoddy past, however, Lord Trevelyan had wanted to go and see for himself if these men and women could be persuaded to the Inquisition's cause, or to pad their ranks back in Ostwick. Evelyn had expressed a desire to accompany him, believing it a good opportunity to bring in another faction of seasoned warriors to their cause.

No, Cullen had said immediately. There was no reason for her to go.

Of course he'd been thwarted by Josephine and Leliana, both of whom had agreed that they needed more experienced men at arms to train their ever growing recruit numbers.

"It's not far," Evelyn had said, trying to soothe his ire at the notion that she would be surrounded by Templars, the only one he trusted being her own father. "I will be back within four days. All I wish to do is see if they are open to the possibility."

"Do you recall the welcoming you received at Therinfal, or am I the only one who saw the effect that Smite had on you?"

She'd bristled. "I will be fine. Would it ease your mind if I took Inquisition soldiers with me?"

It would ease my mind if you would take  _me_  with you, he'd thought, but he'd realized that her suggestion would indeed lessen the feeling of anxiousness clawing at his throat. Something about this just didn't  _feel_  right.

Though he'd grimaced while he did so, he'd assigned one unit for her protection alone, and still had scowled when she'd rewarded him with a smile that was usually such a tell-tale precursor to his own stupid grin.

They would leave on the morrow.

He'd sought her out later that night in her quarters, thinking idly to himself that it was the first time he had seen her rooms. Unsurprisingly, he had been met with Evelyn's gracious and genial welcome, which had dissolved quickly into their comfortable rapport as she'd led him up the stairs into the wide expanse of her room.

From the ceiling hung a multitude of small baubles - feathers, shells, curious-looking crystals, and the like - that tinkled together when a stray breeze drifted into the room with the smell of impending rain from the open doors.

"What is all of this?" He'd asked, after hitting his head on a few of the odd chimes.

"I like listening to them as I fall asleep," she'd replied simply. "I always have the windows and doors open."

"Don't you get cold?" He'd said, thinking he'd no right to ask since he technically had his very own window overhead in his room.

"Yes." Something in her expression had shifted, darkened almost. "But I like the feeling of the air on my skin and the smell of the outdoors. It's...preferable to the accommodations I'm used to."

It was then he had understood what she'd meant. Yes, the Circle was not a place one could listen to the wind, the rain, or anything from the outside on a whim. Doors did not open outside for mages. Neither did windows, for that matter.

A pitiable existence he felt guilty to even be party to now, but the mood had changed when she'd trailed her fingers up his arm and stepped close enough to mold her body to his with that wonderful smile of hers.

He'd woken that morning with her fit snuggly in his arms, a tangle of limbs and feelings he'd spent too often examining while the subtle spark of her magic charged the air around them. Hours later, he would watch her ride through the gates of Skyhold with that sense of unease returning to his gut in full force. Ten of his best men accompanied her along with her father, brother, and a few Templars that had wanted to serve with the Trevelyans in Ostwick. He had counted Samson among them.

The feeling had not ceased, and made his work much more difficult to concentrate on. Where was she? Did she eat well enough today? Was she warm?

She was never warm enough, he thought archly. Even with him sharing her bed, her hands and feet remained nearly frozen to the touch. Perhaps he would see about warmer bedclothes later today when he'd finished with this sodding report he couldn't concentrate on.

Cullen lifted his head out of his hands when a call came up from the courtyard below. Curious, he leaned back in his chair to peer through the loophole. What he saw made his stomach drop. He pushed out of his chair so quickly he was out the door before it clattered to the stone floor.

Below, he approached the lone horse that had galloped through the gates. The mare looked exhausted, her flanks heaving and slick with sweat. She still wore her saddle, smeared with blood as it was, and the reins of her bridle hung low in front of her forelegs. She stilled her nervous prancing under the gentle pressure of his hand. Closer now, he noticed the small vial dangling from the throat lash. The sight of it brought a hundred terrible possibilities to his mind, and when he grasped it in hand, loosening it from the horse, he knew.

"I need every Templar currently under Inquisition colors readied to march by nightfall!" He spied one of Leliana's scouts watching nearby. "Go find Harding and bring her here. Be quick about it!"

He hadn't noticed Leliana step up beside him. She was quiet by nature, but the struggle for her to speak just then drove home how dire their situation had become.

"Is this-?"

"Evelyn's horse," he finished quietly. "I need every man Rylen can spare from the Approach. If what I suspect took place really happened, we are going to need all the help we can get."

"I'll send word. Take everyone with you. Skyhold can manage on a skeleton crew."

He nodded, swiftly aligning plans and people in his mind. He desperately tried not consider the personal implications of this turn of events.

Yet his heart stuttered in his chest at the unwelcome thoughts that bloomed to life in his mind, almost crippling him with the resulting ache.

Cassandra found him minutes later in his office as he strapped himself into his armor. She was already wearing hers.

"I'm coming."

"I assumed you would be." He didn't even hesitate at his next words. "I'll need the keys to my chest."

Only the two of them knew to what exactly he was referring. Cassandra's eyes went wide, but in the reality of what they faced, she understood his meaning. Cullen needed to be at one hundred percent for this.

"You're sure, Cullen? It will be starting all over again."

He nodded stiffly. "It's worth it."  _She_ is worth it. "Besides, if the world comes crashing down around our ears, it matters little if I go back on one promise."

Convinced, focusing on the present, she reached beneath the plate of her armor and withdrew a seemingly ordinary brass key.

"I'll have one of the mages prepare your philter."

"No," he said quickly. "I'll do it myself." Cullen wanted this to be all by his hand. As if how precarious this situation was hadn't driven home the incredibly serious nature of what he was about to subject himself to.

A short while later Cullen prowled into the undercroft with Lyrium singing sweetly in his veins, key gripped firmly between his fingers. Dagna and Harritt noticed a change in the Commander, but it was hardly unusual as news spread throughout the keep.

The Inquisitor had been captured. It was worrisome for everyone.

Three locks popped open near the armor stands. Hesitantly, with a care that bordered on reverence, Cullen lifted a sword from the depths of the trunk.

"Wow," Dagna breathed from beside him. "Is all of that Lyrium?"

Of course it was. Dagna knew that well, but he found himself nodding in response to the silly question.

Their eyes passed over the silverite sword that gleamed in the low light. Adorning the blade were inlays of pure Lyrium twining in and out of each other like the vines of the plants that clung to the walls of Skyhold. When he so wished, back when he wielded this sword like an extension of his own body, he could make the Lyrium burn like fire. It had seen him through the Qunari uprising, the mage rebellion, and Meredith's insane purge of their charges. He had thought to set this sword down forever when Cassandra came to him - a chapter of his life closing so another could begin.

He needed it now. More than ever. Evelyn might hate him for this, but as long as she was alive she could think whatever she wished of him and he would not care.

By the time they'd gathered up and left the gates of Skyhold, the sun was slipping beneath the horizon. He rode at the front of one column of soldiers while Cassandra headed up the other. Immediately behind them rode Dorian who - concerned just as much for Cullen as Evelyn - cut up between the two warriors.

"How long do you expect it will take us to reach her?" He asked, voice lowered as to not let it carry. The men were riled enough as it was.

Some poor bastard had made the mistake of taking the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, and Lady Trevelyan; the woman who had come to mean so much to all of them in the years since she had fallen rather unceremoniously out of the Breach and into their lives. Now they were going to get her back, come Void or high water.

"If we ride all night we should be at the outskirts by sundown tomorrow. We'll rest and hopefully meet Rylen's men coming in from the west. From there I'll track Evelyn to wherever they're holding her." Cullen was surprised at how even his voice sounded, given that his hands were shaking so badly. He'd only taken a small dose of Lyrium to get his body used to it, but it was enough to cause some unwanted side effects. Despite the small case of the jitters and mild headache, he felt renewed.

"Can you really track her that well with the phylactery?" Dorian asked, curious about the vial. He understood the idea, but had never seen it in practice.

Cullen nodded, holding up the vial of blood secured to his wrist for him to see. The mage reached out and fingered the glass, able to feel the faint thrum of magic inside.

"I've had a lot of practice finding mages," was all Cullen offered before tucking the vial away. Inside his gauntlet on the flesh of his wrist the vial burned steadily, letting him know with each hurried mile that he was getting closer.

* * *

_Evelyn crashed through the underbrush, legs carrying her as quickly as they could through the uneven terrain. Her hair snagged on harsh branches, they scraped her skin and tore at her clothes._

_They were close. She could hear their armor-clad feet pounding on the forest floor and quickly closing the distance. Although they had speed, she was nimble and wore less armor. Hesitating only a moment, she shifted course, darting to the right to disappear into the slow rolling fog._

" _Come now, Inquisitor! I only want to talk!"_

_She slid to a stop, sucking in desperate lung fulls of air. It felt as if there was a pressure on her chest, unable to catch her breath. The thick, heavy fog didn't help matters as the voice echoed around her._

_Where was it coming from? She had been certain they were behind her. Unsure, she started forward again at a more subdued pace, struggling to quiet her breathing. Maker, where was she? Where was her father, Aaron, and her soldiers? And why did that voice sound familiar?_

" _If you come out, I'll see to it that your father lives!" It called again._

_She stumbled over an exposed tree root, scraping up the palms of her hands as she hurried to stand._

_Her father.._

_Flashes, images flit through her mind as she tried to recall what had happened to them. An arrow, that's right. It came silently through the air and…_

_Oh, Maker…_

_Her father had fallen straight from his horse and the soldiers around her had scrambled to arms. Absently, she reached to the back of her head. There had been pain there, sharp and heavy. When she drew her hand away there was no blood on her palm, even though she felt that there should be._

_She looked around again, seeing nothing but endless tree trunks. Above, she couldn't even make out the canopy of leaves overhead. Nothing but fog hung overhead._

_A low chuckle echoed around her. "Come out, come out wherever you are!"_

Samson looked dispassionately down at the Trevelyan woman as she lay twitching on the dark wooden floor. She was in the throes of a dream, Lyrium induced and powerful. He could scarcely believe how easily his plan had worked, given her penchant for slipping through their fingers. It seemed engaging her brother had been the correct choice. This would have been considerably more difficult without his help.

"How much longer?" Aaron grumbled from beside him, a nervous, edgy look to his features.

The boy was terrified of his sister's magic.

"Teague is very good at subduing mages. Not much longer."

"She will still live?"

"Of course. She just won't be dangerous any longer. You can take her home and she can live out the rest of her years there in peace. She will not be able to harm anyone."

* * *

Cullen held the phylactery in his palm, worrying it between his thumb and forefinger. She was still alive, but there was a strange pulse to the magic now. He had no idea what that meant, but it scared him all the same. With no consistent feel of magic, it had made tracking her down much more difficult. He'd only ever felt this stutter of power when someone was- No. Focus, he berated himself.

Harding's scouts had found his men dead, but Evelyn's brother and father were missing along with the Inquisitor herself. It was Templar work, Harding said. They could tell from the foot patterns in the road and by the wounds on their fallen. Cullen couldn't say he was surprised. Sending the phylactery was a threat - a very Templar threat. Mages would not have done this, and he suspected their political enemies wouldn't have even thought of it. Sending traceable blood to him had said several things. First, that he was not out of the Order's reach, no matter how much he tried to distance himself. Second, his relationship with Evelyn was known.

They hadn't really tried to keep their association quiet because there was nothing particularly odd about two consenting adults entering into a relationship with one another. Of course, he had the benefit of commanding the Inquisition's armies, but Evelyn complimented his professional position rather well, he thought - what with her knee-weakening smiles in comparison to his knee-knocking glares. Regardless, someone had outed their relatively new association, and he suspected it had been that rat Samson.

Sending the phylactery had also said that the Templars wanted the Inquisition's undivided attention. He glanced back over his shoulder to see the veritable legion of men and women he'd gathered. Well, if they wanted attention, they would have it.

"You assume this is some kind of trap." Cassandra spoke easily, betraying nothing of her feelings as she approached him.

"It definitely is. They mean to make a point, and they mean to make it with Evelyn." His voice wavered with his own uncertainty of her fate. It was only the twenty-odd years of strict, standardized training that kept him from completely losing focus. Unfortunately, his mind was wont to venture into decidedly uncomfortable territory. Cullen couldn't deny his feelings for her or his gut-twisting, breath-stealing fear for her safety. She was in danger and he was not at her side to protect her.

Unconsciously, his fist tightened around the phylactery, something that did not go unnoticed by Cassandra.

"How is she?"

"Alive, but you know as well as I do that means little in a hostage situation where Templars are involved."

She opened her mouth to form a reply when one of Leliana's scouts hurried over to them. The paleness of the boy's features brought poor news, for certain.

"Commander! Seeker Pentaghast! We've found Lord Trevelyan and one of his knights," he said, dropping his heels together in a belated salute.

"Where?" Cullen's question had come out harsher than he'd intended, but the scout hardly noticed.

"There's a farm a mile due west from the road where the attack occurred. The man who owns it says he found Lord Trevelyan and his man in a bad way after the attack, and got his sons to help him carry them back to his place. It does not look well for them, he says." He punctuated that bad news with a small, apologetic nod of his head.

"Take me to them," Cassandra said quickly. "I might be able to learn something about what happened."

"Getting out will also help me pinpoint where they're holding Evelyn," Cullen murmured, fingering the glass in his hand once more. Phylacteries were good indicators of a mage's location, but it was not as if they could lead a Templar to a mage the way a bloodhound might. Regardless, since her magic had begun to fluctuate, Cullen could not rightly discern any particular direction Evelyn might have been.

"You need to rest, Cullen. You have not slept at all."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Of all the stupid, selfish, stubborn...Cassandra growled at him. "You may well see that come to pass if you do not begin to take care of yourself."

His amber eyes narrowed on her, and she could see this was an argument she would not win. Did she ever, with his pushy arrogance at the fore?

"Fine. Come then."

True to the scout's directions, the Seeker and the Commander found themselves outside a modest holding not far from the bloody stain on the road that Cullen had tried very hard not to look at. While it was not to say he was squeamish of the gore, the fact that Evelyn had been involved in the middle of that massacre caused his stomach to churn unpleasantly. Again, he thought bitterly, he had failed to protect her - to shield her from the worst the world had to offer.

The pair dismounted and introduced themselves to the family. They seemed nice enough, but utterly bewildered by the situation in which they now found themselves. Fighting was almost commonplace since the beginning of the civil war, they said, but casualties were usually taken care of by their respective sides. That's why they had found the dead on the road so unusual and had dared to get closer to investigate. Thank the Maker they had. Without their curiosity it was very likely no one would have survived at all.

"I have brought along a healer," Cullen spoke calmly, though he felt far from it. The house stank of sickness and the sweet, coppery scent of old blood. "He is a mage, but he will not harm you. Would it be alright to let him inside and tend to our wounded?"

Both fearless and gracious, the family had no trouble accommodating a mage as long as they minded themselves, and with Solas in tow they ascended a flight of narrow stairs into loft of small home to find Evelyn's father.

Cullen hurried over as quickly as the small, cramped space would allow, eyes quickly assessing the Lord's condition. It was a wonder the man was still conscious, he thought, when Adair's fingers twitched at his side in greeting.

"I suspected that I might see you here," he began, voice raspy and watery sounding.

Cullen watched Solas take up the other side of Adair's bedroll, quickly peeling back the layers of rough-spun cotton blankets. They stuck to and tugged at Adair's wound, which was revealed to be a rather messy puncture through his flank where his armor would have been thinnest. There was another more superficial wound to his shoulder, but the man was still largely black and blue, his injuries open and red while his skin remained hot to the touch with fever.

"It is a good thing we arrived when we did," Solas murmured quietly, deft fingers attempting to seek out the worst of the infection before he tried to mend any rended tissue. "The fever would have taken him before his injuries."

Cullen nodded only once, about to ask after Evelyn, when Cassandra - with her usual grace - beat him to the question.

"Lord Trevelyan, we must know what happened to the Inquisitor. Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Adair squeezed his eyes shut. "She's alive?"

"Yes," Cullen replied, taking the man's hand and placing the faintly pulsing phylactery to his palm.

His fingers closed around the cool glass, and the tension seemed to leave his shoulders when the thrum of magic could be felt through his pain.

"So she is." Adair drew in a deep breath, the bubbling sound causing Cullen to wince when it reached his ears. "We were betrayed. My own son, no less."

_What?_

"Aaron is of the misguided opinion that Evelyn has become a dangerous apostate since the Conclave. Thinks she's been touched by a demon. He and that man Samson, took her and-" He flicked his fingers again, trying to emphasize a point which he didn't have the strength for. "You're looking for a fort along the northern Imperial Highway called La Main de Fer. Well fortified. Dozens of Templar defectors." He paused, taking another rattling breath. "Hope you brought the cavalry."

Cassandra smirked. "Cullen insisted on bringing the entire army. We will find this fort and rescue the Inquisitor." Her tone said that failure was not an option.

Solas glanced up from his work. "I will take care of them, Commander. You should get back and prepare to assault the fort."

Cullen stood, meeting Lord Trevelyan's feverish, and yet surprisingly sharp gaze. "I will bring her back. I swear it."

They returned to camp and sent off scouts to search for this fort Lord Trevelyan had mentioned. Neither Cassandra or Cullen had ever heard of such a place, leaving them with the impression that it must be fairly new. That being said, neither of them had any inkling of what the defenses of such a construct would be like, and were left waiting well into the evening for their men to return with reports.

Three scouts had been caught and killed, but two managed to return to the Inquisition with enough information to send Cullen into motion. He would not leave Evelyn with these men any longer.

"There is a very wide main gate," Cassandra read to him while he busied himself dividing his men into appropriate groups. Archers near the back with the mages, while the Templars and mounted soldiers were at the front.

"How many men across?" He tapped the tip of the quill against the parchment he was scrawling across.

"Estimated at ten."

"So...five horses could easily fit. What of their main line of defense?"

"Archers on the battlements. Regular increments. There seems to be a regular guard rotation at sun up and sun down."

"So they don't have so many men that they can afford to have shorter shifts. Good to know. Which direction is the main gate facing?"

"West. It appears that there are no known alternative routes inside the fort but for the sewer, and that has been barred off."

"What are the soldiers on the ground outfitted with?"

"Standard Templar-issue long swords and shields with heavy armor."

"Alright," Cullen sighed through his nose, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the steadily waning signs of magic from Evelyn's phylactery. "Here's what we'll do."

"Mages are ready, Cullen. You're sure you wouldn't rather have them up front?"

Dorian probably spoke of his experience with Tevinter mages, Cullen thought as he handed off orders to Rylen's men. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately - he couldn't rightly decide - mages in the south were not prepared for war. Unlike Tevinter, they'd had no reason to be.

"Positive. I'd prefer to keep them out of the fighting as much as possible. It'd be putting them at unnecessary risk to have them up front with us. Just tell them to be ready to take care of stragglers and the wounded."

"And if I in particular were to ignore your orders?" he scoffed, examining his nails with a measure of faux disdain that Cullen was certain no other man could pull off so well.

The corner of the Commander's mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. For all his worry over Evelyn, Dorian could always find a way to lighten his spirits. "I suppose I could be bothered to have you along. I won't come to your rescue if you find yourself bereft of your magic and at the mercy of of a southern Templar, however."

"Oh, you paint quite the picture, Commander." The mage winked, seriousness suddenly returning. "I certainly won't be on the front lines, but once inside you can bet I'll be right there to help you search for our Inquisitor."

"Count me in," Varric spoke, swinging Bianca over a shoulder as he walked up to the men with Sera on his heels.

"That's right. You're stuck."

Cullen had never doubted Evelyn's companions' fondness for her, but it was heartening to witness all the same. "Right. Just be ready when the orders come down. I'm sure you'll be able to find me on the field."

"Commander! Let's move out and kick some ass!"

Bull's call rumbled through those assembled, who shared his sentiments. Dorian merely rolled his eyes and quickly excused himself to return to the mages.

In short order, the army found itself slowing to a stop in front of the surprisingly well-fortified stronghold to which they were meant to lay seige. To Cullen's delight, the scout's information was incredibly accurate, down to the number of men posted along the walls. He did not account for the ground troops, however.

Certainly, he expected some discrepancies between the reports and reality, especially since Samson knew he was coming, but he was not expecting the phalanx of shields and spears waiting for them in front of the iron-barred gate. He had to think, and think quickly, if he was going to turn this to their advantage. Yes, he had the larger numbers, but that meant little if his men were merely throwing themselves against the fort's walls.

"Sera, Varric?" He called, turning his horse about to canter back to the archery unit.

"Need something, Curly?" Varric looked up from priming his crossbow. Sera regarded him silently from beside the dwarf, waiting to hear what this was about.

"How adept are the both of you at scaling sheer walls...unseen?"

Varric's prideful smirk was really all the answer Cullen needed. "Need us to go knock for you?"

"I'd honestly appreciate it if the door was already open by the time we arrived. No need to make Samson wait on us, after all."

Sera grinned. "You can count onnit."

"Excellent. I need you to go as quickly as possible." He inclined his head behind him where the sun shone brightly as it made its slow descent behind the hills. "I want to finish the assault by nightfall."

"We're on it. When that gate comes up, though, I expect you to charge in to save our asses. Two rogues on who knows how many Templars aren't good odds, even for me."

Cullen watched as they slipped away moment later, returning to the front to again to observe the phalanx of men. They had yet to move. Surely they must tire eventually. While being a Templar required a great amount of stamina to simply carry out day-to-day tasks, he knew that holding such heavy weaponry as a spear, especially when it was not familiar, would wear on any man's physical resolve. Perhaps that was how best to approach the gate guard.

"Rogues are scaling the battlements now, Commander. Your order?" a scout piped up from beside him, spyglass attached firmly to his eye.

Cullen turned to those beside him: Blackwall, Cassandra, Bull, and Barris. "I hope none of you are overly fond of your mounts." He pat his black's neck, murmuring an apology before he gave the word to charge.

As one mass, the mounted soldiers surged forward, gaining ground quickly.

"So we're just going to run them over?" Bull called over the din of hooves and cheers.

"That's the plan!"

"Love the way you think, Commander!"

The gate had, thank the Maker, risen by the time Cullen's party came within striking distance, and it was with a commendable amount of courage that their enemies had barely moved an inch by the time the wall of horses collided with their bulwark of shields and spears.

Intending to not be skewered so early on, Cullen had swung one leg over his horse and placed his shield between he and his mount while holding onto the pommel of the saddle. Jerking the reins at the last possible moment, the horse stumbled and bowled over a good portion of the Templars with his flank, crushing them with his dead weight.

The Commander didn't pause to look at the bloody spear-tips protruding from his four-legged friend, his shield having just barely deflected one deadly spike as he rolled to his feet and rushed through the gate with the others. The remainder of their mounted soldiers poured in easily, herding the rogue Templars and plummeting the courtyard into the chaos of battle. The distraction was good - now he needed to focus on the phylactery and Evelyn's whereabouts. The cold glass against his bare chest and beneath the layers of his armor urged him forward.

A Templar dressed in heavy plate took advantage of his distraction, but the Commander had his sword at the ready. Cullen deflected the broadsword, catching the blade on his hilt and turning the larger weapon aside, following up with a swift kick to the man's thigh. Buckling under the force of the blow, his enemy hesitated just a breath too long to defend himself. Cullen's Lyrium sword plunged between his helmet and the collar of his plate, effectively swiftly ending the man's life.

Another Templar was on him in a heartbeat, and settling into that old rhythm, the Commander raised his shield arm and blocked with squared shoulders. A flash of blue light illuminated Cullen's dark armor as Evelyn's enchantment took the place of his old Templar shield which he'd left behind at the gate.

It was curious, he would think later, that he chose that moment in his life to leave his shield behind. That shield which had seen him through so much - demons, apostates, and Qunari - would be forever left on the battlefield in the fight for his lover's life. His mage lover - the Inquisitor. Perhaps he would laugh at the irony ten more years into his future. For now, he had a few Templars to kill.

Cullen shoved his assailant away from him with the enchanted shield and unsheathed the dagger from his boot which he kept for more close-quarter situations Before he struck out, however, Bull brought his warhammer down on top of the focused Templar, reducing him to a rather unattractive puddle of gore and twisted metal.

"Varric's got the main door," Bullen grunted, swinging his hammer in an arc overhead before letting the weight of it crush another man.

He needed to hear no more. Cullen motioned Bull to follow him as he searched Varric out among the chaos, fighting his way over to the dwarf who was doing a remarkable job suppressing the number of Templars seeking to push through into the courtyard from the main hallway of the fort's interior.

"Move!"

Varric jumped aside just in time to let Cullen and Bull into the hallway. Cullen's shield and Bull's sheer mass alone would give any sane person pause, but together they pushed back an entire unit of men with the Inquisition's forces falling in behind their Commander. It was here, in the narrow and dimly-lit corridors of the keep, that the fighting began in earnest.

Faintly, Cullen could feel the phylactery humming erratically against his skin.

* * *

_Evelyn's chest heaved as she tried to force more air into her lungs. She'd lost track of how long this had gone on - of how long he had chased her in this place. She couldn't urge her body to take one more step, and the frightened pounding of her heart in her ears masked the approaching footfalls of Teague and his men._

_Hands and knees sunk into the soft cushion of dead leaves and damp soil beneath her. Sweat beaded on her skin and slipped down her neck, plastering her hair to her body. She'd never felt so exhausted, nor did she ever remember feeling such intense fear as she did now, watching that silverite plate come into her field of vision._

_A pair of boots and shin guards were all she saw of him, and had she the strength, she would have summoned her barrier. As it was, she was simply too drained to defend herself, and Evelyn realized this was what he had wanted. It shamed and angered her that she had played directly into his hands. If she had fought from the first, perhaps she might have discovered a way out. She silently berated herself for her trusting foolishness - her desire to always take the path of least resistance. It weakened her, and now would likely be the cause of her death._

_Maker, why wasn't she stronger? Why couldn't she be like Dorian, Vivienne, Solas, or Hawke? How was is that she had been born a mage with nothing to her credit but healing abilities and a stupid barrier spell she'd yet to fully understand? What good was she if she could not effectively defend herself or those she loved from brutes like Teague?_

" _You've given me quite the run-around, Inquisitor." Teague's voice belied little of his own exhaustion. He'd done this enough times to learn to pace himself._

_Evelyn merely flicked her eyes up to meet his, and for a moment the Templar was struck by how angry she looked. He'd never seen that expression on her face before, and suddenly he felt he understood a little of her own brother's trepidation when it came to this woman. No matter, he thought as he shook himself. She would be dealt with in short order._

" _Kill me if you want, then. Take me prisoner. Whatever you want to do, I can't run anymore."_

_Her heart hammered to a stop at the slow, knowing smile that twisted Teague's features into something vile._

" _Oh, neither of those things will do." He chuckled. "You've gone beyond yourself, mage, and as the Order cannot trust you to keep yourself in check, the decision has been made to strip you of your magic."_

_Her stomach rolled and plummeted to her feet. No. No! Anything but that!_

" _No, please! Kill me. Torture me. I'll do anything you want, but don't make me Tranquil!"_

" _Ah, so you are afraid of something."_

_Teague took a step forward and Evelyn found the energy to scramble away from him, though her retreat was halted abruptly as a pair of armored limbs wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. She twisted, growling with the effort to try and dislodge the man who held her._

" _Please! Please don't do this!"_

_Teague shook his head, making a tutting noise as he stepped closer. Evelyn kicked out, but he evaded her meager assault easily. His advance halted just a breath away from her, his hand stretching out to rest on the crown of her head._

" _No!"_

_She jerked back but his hand held firm, fingers digging into her scalp. "This won't hurt a bit."_

_Evelyn could feel him in her head. Like a tailor picking apart a seam, Teague plucked away at the threads of her being, focusing on those that held her magic. He cut, twisted and pulled, wresting her connection to the Fade from her control. Each moment that passed she could feel more of herself slipping until the forest around them began to steadily fade away. Color dimmed, sounds reached her, but they were warped and grotesque._

_She couldn't let him do this! She would rather die than become Tranquil. There were fates worse than death, and this was the worst of them._

_She writhed again, slipping free of his grasp in a desperate bid for freedom. With strength she didn't know she possessed , Evelyn broke free of her keeper and scrambled to her feet._

" _Well, I suppose we'll do this the hard way." Teague grumbled, quickly closing the distance between himself and the weakened Inquisitor. "Say hello to your brothers for me, won't you?" And with that, he plunged his sword into her back, kicked her over, and severed her head from her body in one heavy swing._

Teague sat back on his heels, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow with a satisfied smirk on his face. The forest had gone, vestiges of the Fade evaporating in the air around him as the empty dining hall came back into focus.

"Got her."

Samson stepped forward to inspect his friend's handiwork, acknowledging that the women still lived and that she did indeed bear the mark on her forehead.

"That took longer than normal. She gave you trouble?"

"I wanted to play a bit," Teague replied, rising to his feet to stretch as if he hadn't just committed a heinous crime. "For a moment I almost managed to subdue her, but she's a feisty one. Never would have guessed. Had to just end it."

"No sense in being delicate about it. She'll be doing nothing but reading and writing reports anyway."

The two men laughed while Aaron knelt by his sister's side to check her pulse. It was true, she lived, but that look in her eyes…

A shudder raced down his spine.

Yelling from the hall preceded the two guards posted outside the door to burst into the room. They shut the heavy door behind them, leaning their weight against it.

"We're under attack! Inquisition forced have made their way inside!"

Teague's brows snapped down angrily over his eyes. "How did they get inside? That wasn't nearly enough time for them to gather a reliable siege engine!"

Samson smirked. "That's Cullen for you. Punch first and ask questions later."

Teague growled, unsheathing his sword as he faced the door. "I'll put that washed-up Knight Commander in his place."

Samson wasn't entirely certain Teague would survive his encounter with Cullen. As someone who had been on the receiving end of his rages in the practice ring, he could say from experience that Teague would be very, very lucky to survive this. It was definitely the reason the shifty-eyed Templar began to retreat to the back of the room, eyes on Teague's back. Samson wouldn't die here. Not today, and not yet. The Elder One had plans for him still, and he would be pleased that he had succeeded in rendering the Inquisitor impotent. He slipped soundlessly out of the room, unaware that Aaron had watched his retreat. A coward himself, if his sister's current condition was to be considered, he rose and followed after Samson just as the sounds of fighting outside in the corridor increased in volume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello friends! Apologies for the delay. Bushviper has been gracious enough to become my beta, and as such I've finally had someone to utter my deepest darkest secrets to. Everyone say thank you and go check out her work! She is awesome sauce.  
> Also here to let you know that this isn't the end!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Friends! I love you all sooo much! Thank you so much for sticking with me through the last chapter. Another ginormous thank you to bushviper for her beta skills, holding my hand, and loving my OCs as much as I do. <3 I also wanted to thank everyone for reviewing. Honestly, the reviews are what keep me going.
> 
> I wrote this entire chapter to Mad World by Gary Jules, so I suppose that's the theme for this chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Cullen's boot collided with the door jam one last time before the hinges gave way, and the thin wooden boards cracked and splintered beneath his weight as he swept inside, with Blackwall and Dorian close on his heels.

His eyes immediately fell on Evelyn's supine form at the far end of the room, the dark wood making her pale coloring look downright sickly. Something wasn't right. His body tensed as he held his breath - she wasn't moving.

"Commander Cullen. We meet again."

Cullen's heated gaze flew in the direction of Teague's voice, his eyes narrowing at the other man's seemingly guiltless smirk.

He should have known. Cullen had suspected he'd not heard the last of this brute, but he had never imagined  _this_. He wouldn't let him get away this time.

"What's wrong?" Teague adjusted his grip on his sword. It was drawn, blade shining faintly in the subdued light of the room. "Cat got your tongue?" His obnoxious smirk widened into a grin.

"Surrender now."  _And I won't kill you_ , the Commander thought, silently hoping he would resist.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to work for it, traitor."

"Easy enough," Cullen brought his sword forward and engaged the captain .

Meanwhile, Dorian made a beeline for his friend who remained motionless on the floor. He dropped to his knees, murmuring her name while his hands fluttered over her to discern any immediate injuries. He'd just finished scanning her still form, returning his eyes to her face to find her looking at him. The stare she was giving him was...uncomfortable at best.

"Evie?"

Blackwall knelt down near her head. "Come on, love, we need to get out of here before your Commander makes a mess of us." His gloved hand brushed her hair out of her face. Both men froze.

"What the fuck?" Dorian breathed. "What the fuck did they  _do_  to her!"

The mage knocked the warrior's hand out of the way, his thumb rubbing at the brand on her skin as if it were stage makeup. When that didn't remove the offensive mark, he licked the pad of his finger to try again like a fussy mother.

Again, the Chantry sun burned into her flesh did not rub away.

"Maker help that son of a bitch," Blackwall growled, drawing Dorian's attention to the conflict that had spilled into an adjacent room, "because when Cullen is done with him I want a turn."

"No complaints there," Dorian snarled. "I can resurrect him, you know."

* * *

Cullen, despite his concern for Evelyn, was very careful with Teague. He'd never fought the man before, and while he was sure that his moveset would not vary overmuch from a recruit or a new initiate, it would have been foolish to think that a man made Knight Captain would not have picked up a few tricks from experience alone. As such, he found himself advancing very little in the first few moments of their melee, waiting to learn and take advantage of Teague's habits.

Unfortunately, that left time for Teague to flap his gums. He was awfully smug for a man in a fight for his life.

"So tell me, how is it that a traitor such as yourself rises to the rank of Commander in a mere ten years?"

Cullen blocked another blow, lips pressed into a grim line at the toothless question. He'd heard that one often, and didn't understand how some simply didn't seem to notice that his dedication and hard work had earned him his positions within the Order. He followed the advice he gave every new recruit: keep your head down, do as your told, and pray.

That last one was perhaps the most important. Maker knew he'd employed it often enough.

"It's no secret you have a soft spot for mages," Teague spoke to fill the silence left by Cullen's lack of response. "Everywhere you've gone there's been one to catch your eye, am I right? Admit it. You only became Knight Commander by throwing in with those filthy mages. Clearly your experience at Kinloch Hold has left you in thrall."

That was something Cullen had feared for a long while after he'd been sent away. He'd thought his dreams the result of a bond between himself and a blood mage, not realizing for many years after that he had simply suffered the psychological trauma typical in such situations. The dreams bothered him still, but he knew it was not a personal shortcoming or the result of being controlled by blood magic.

In response to Teague, Cullen merely smiled, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "I'd stop talking if I were you and. Start. Fighting."

He enunciated each word with a heavy blow, his sword striking down on Teague's shield with such force that it caused the man's knees to buckle under the stress. Teague stumbled, unprepared and surprised, but managed to gather enough of himself to bring his shield up just in time to prevent Cullen's sword from caving his skull in.

The edge of the Lyrium blade ricocheted off of the steel lip of the buffer, forcing Cullen to step back to regroup and then reaffirm his offensive stance. Capitalizing on this small opening between assaults, Teague lunged forward with his shield out. Before the shield bash could make contact, Cullen's sword flashed brightly in the dim room and he thrust it forward through the steel of the shield. Blue flames licked slowly up Cullen's blade as the edge protruded out of the wrong side of the shield.

With a cry, Teague dropped his shield. His first mistake, Cullen would later note. The cause of the pathetic mewling was simple. Cullen's sword had laid open the man's forearm, and has he sat clutching the viciously bleeding appendage he cursed Cullen by using every unholy invocation he could think of. Cullen didn't let the slights bother him in the least.

"I have to say that your Lady Inquisitor is quite the specimen," Teague ground out, lifting his sword once more.

Cullen glared. "Don't speak of her."

The man only smiled, chuckling darkly. "A shame she wasn't made Tranquil in Ostwick. Think of how much  _fun_  the Templars would have had with her."

"You son of a bitch," Cullen growled, vision blurring with rage at the sight of that self-satisfied smirk his bloodied opponent wore like armor. He tried to ignore the cool, still presence of the phylactery against the skin of his chest.

Feeling an impossibly cold rage settle over him, Cullen tucked his chin in and narrowed his eyes at Teague from beneath his brows. The man was going to die. Today. Now. And no one was going to save him.

Advancing with renewed purpose, the Commander struck brought his blade down in an arc over Teague. The man blocked with his sword. When his blow didn't land Cullen swung horizontally, trying to knock away the blade keeping his own from biting into Teague's flesh. Steel sparked and Lyrium fire flared blue while Teague dropped his knee and twisted away from Cullen, rolling to his feet again a moment later.

Relentless, Cullen again closed the distance between them with a series of under and over-hand strikes, wearing down Teague's already flagging stamina while his arm dripped gore onto his own feet. Desperate for an advantage, Teague blocked another incoming blow and, pulling a knife from his boot, slashed out at Cullen. The assault was true, the blade of the small dagger finding purchase in the chinks between Cullen's plate. Fortunately, the Commander was wearing enough armor for the meager attack to be harmless. Still, he took the opening and lunged, spelled shield forward, to make contact with Teague.

The blow was like being on the receiving end of a battering ram, as Teague's body folded over his stomach as he flew back the few feet to the far end of the room to land on a pile of fragile, old furnishings.

"You bastard," he growled, remarkably still able to breathe around his broken ribs and jaw while blood sputtered up from his lungs.

The insult was ineffectual, Cullen having long since allowed his acute fury to guide him where his heart could not. If he'd done what he truly wanted, he would have been in the other room tending to Evelyn as he should, not wasting time beating this jackass seven shades of black and blue before he removed his head from his body.

Some people just did not have the good sense to run off and die. Then again, that would have removed the alarming sense of self-satisfaction Cullen was receiving while inflicting such violence on this contemptible blackguard.

While he had never considered himself a hateful man, Cullen was violent - as all warriors inherently were. Reared on abuse, pain, and blood after leaving Honnleath under direction of the Templars, he'd naught but the Chantry to temper his physical savagery with mental activity. He'd long suspected that all the memorizing the sisters had thrust upon them had been merely an easy way to get he and his peers to focus on something other than their hormones and all of the posturing that had come along with them. By the time they had been ready to receive their assignments, it had been expected that the initiates would know when and where to employ their skills and would leave the need for the heady rush of adrenaline and excitement of a good brawl behind. Some lived up to that expectation, he supposed, but most didn't - including himself.

For all his airs of civility, deep down Cullen took just as much pleasure in raw ferocity and power as the next man carrying a sword and shield, while still calling himself a gentleman. The lie was laughable as it was troubling.

He had just reached out to grab Teague by the collar and pull him up to face his reckoning when he noticed the man wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, some reddish substance glowing faintly against the pale skin of his lips. An empty bottle lay in his lap, and Cullen could suddenly hear the song - one he'd immediately recognized from the battle at the Emprise.

Red Lyrium.

Well, that made things a bit more complicated.

An inhuman snarl tore from between Teague's lips as he suddenly threw his body, armor and all, at Cullen. Easily three-hundred pounds of man and steel collided with his chest, knocking the wind from him as fierce red claws scratched gratingly against his breastplate in a desperate bid to lay him open. Though gasping for breath, Cullen did not fall back as he turned and thrust Teague from him. The man fell limply to the floor a moment before his joints twitched, cracked, and then the whole of him seemed to swell to an enormous size as the popping and tearing of flesh and bone echoed offensively inside the room. Spires of Lyrium broke free of his plate, and his hands were encased in the stuff until they became sword-like protrusions extending from a mountainous body.

Intimidating as this Lyrium-riddled Teague was, Cullen had seen more fearsome Qunari. It was not as if he scared easily, anyway.

With a roar, the behemoth lifted one of its sword arms and plunged it downward toward Cullen, who managed to roll out of the way. He was surprisingly light on his feet for all his armor, and the behemoth was decidedly sluggish in comparison. The sharp growth thrust into the floor as if it were cutting through butter, splinters from the savaged wood exploding outward in a cloud. Realizing he'd not hit his target, the thing rumbled in displeasure, yanking it's arm from the floor and striking down again at Cullen with both limbs. This time after the Commander had rolled away, the thing had attempted to remove its arms from the wood with a twist of his shoulders.

He didn't move. Again, he twisted, trying to free himself.

A slow, awful smile offered the thing a glimpse of Cullen's white teeth and, with no hesitation, he kicked out with a steel-toed boot and shattered the Lyrium appendage. The behemoth howled, swinging his stub of an arm up and away from Cullen, but he'd over-corrected himself when he tried to hit the Commander and rolled, ungracefully, right onto his back which broke the second sword-like limb.

Writhing in pain, but still not one to be bested, Teague tucked his arms over his chest and tried to hobble to his feet by rolling onto his side. He tried first one way, then another, and was dismayed and panicked to realize that he could not rise to his feet. He'd no arms to push himself up, and his body was far too top-heavy for his legs to bear his weight alone.

A dark chuckle sounded from somewhere beside him, but he could not see for the sheer size of his chest.

"Oh, look how the mighty have fallen. Here, I thought the greatest indignity I could bestow on you would be spitting on your corpse after I'd lopped your head off, but clearly the Maker has an excellent sense of humor." Cullen rest a boot on the behemoth's side and pushed, watching as the massive beast rocked from side to side, growling ferociously at the insult. "Just look at you," he chuckled again, "you're nothing more than an over-sized turtle."

Adjusting his sword in his grip, some distant part of Cullen's mind balked at the notion of killing Teague while the bastard was lying flat on his back, defenseless.

_Just like Evelyn_

His fury descended on him again, all traces of humor, twisted or not, gone entirely from his face. He kicked the thing, shoving with his foot until he'd rolled the behemoth onto his side.

"Get up!"

Teague snarled, balancing on his stubby arms in an effort to push himself to his feet. He'd almost managed, but he was kicked again, the force knocking him to his other side.

"Get up and fight me, you sick fuck! I will not kill a man on his knees!"

When Teague failed to right himself again, Cullen shoved the tip of his sword into his shoulder and twisted, driving him to his feet with rage-fuelled strength. In that moment, with his vision blurring in and out of focus, Teague didn't see the Commander of the Inquisition. There was no warmth in his gaze, and no pensive smile. He saw the Knight Commander of Kirkwall, dark eyes and a snarl curling his lip as he twisted his blade again into Teague's shoulder.

The thing had the audacity to laugh, a dual-toned chuckle emanating from the large chest. "You're right. I will not die flat on my back like your whore."

Aparently Teague was capable of being even more stupid than he'd originally let on. Cullen lashed out, hacking at the creature with his blade. The Lyrium fire burned and flared brightly, chipping away large chunks of red from Teague's body.

"Is that what happened?" he growled, swings growing more violent as Teague struggled to put some distance between them.

The Commander would have none of it. He chased the behemoth back, sword never once breaking its rhythm as it hacked and cut away parts of his shoulders, arms and back. Pain was constant and blinding, so it came as little surprise when a particularly forceful blow from the pommel of Cullen's sword drove the thing to the floor once again.

"Is this how it happened?!" He sunk the entirety of his blade into Teague's back. The thing only responded with a whimper. "You took her!" Cullen remembered seeing the blood on Evelyn's saddle at Skyhold, and stabbed down into his back once again. "You tortured her!" Another stab, as he remembered running into the room and smelling the scent of blood, thick and heavy in the air, while magic burned his senses. Panic. She'd been so scared.

Cullen did not really know when the beast beneath his blade had ceased to resist, and he did not notice when it stopped moving altogether. His blade continued to stab and twist and hack into the twisted body before him for an interminable length of time until his arms grew exhausted and he could feel the hot sting of tears make their way down his cheeks.

He sank to his knees, supporting himself on his blade as his chest heaved and his eyes roamed over the...thing that used to be Teague. It was difficult to tell if it had once been anything at all. Again, the cold glass of Evelyn's phylactery bit into his fevered flesh, and he held back a sob.

Maker's breath. He needed to get to her.

Covered in gore from head to toe and utterly exhausted, Cullen rose to his feet and made for the door. As he passed into the room where Dorian and Blackwall were seeing to her, his gaze fell to Evelyn. In a rush, he tugged his gauntlets off and threw them to the floor as he ran over to her, dropping to his knees beside her body. Desperate to feel her warmth, any sign she wasn't dead, he cradled her face between his palms and forced himself to see the Lyrium brand on her forehead. He'd known shortly after storming the keep. He'd known, but didn't want to believe it.

"No. Maker, no…" Cullen's face dissolved into despair, dropping his head to the crook of her neck where his next words were muffled and broken by the emotion in his voice. "I'm sorry, beautiful. I should have been there to protect you and I wasn't. This is all my fault."

"Cullen…" He could hear Dorian's words, but didn't want to. Not right now when he was sobbing uncontrollably like a child.

"You're crying," her voice sounded in his ear, but any pleasure he might have taken from hearing her voice was robbed from him at the lack of emotion - the deadened quality it held.

He waited a moment to calm himself before sitting back up, wiping furiously at his eyes. He needed to get his shit together. Weeping wouldn't help now. Nothing would.

"I suppose I am," he replied thickly.

"There is no supposition about it. You are."

He sighed, taking several deep breaths to get his emotions under control. He hated her voice. He hated the sheer lack of feeling in her words. This was not Evelyn, not by a long shot. She was gone and what they had in her place…

It had never occurred to him before this moment that he'd never really known Tranquil before the Rite. He'd only ever had contact with them afterwards. At the time, he'd seen no injustices, nor did the Tranquil themselves seem to think they'd been wronged. In fact, many would say that their existence was preferable. Now, looking at the woman he so loved regarding him with empty eyes, all traces of her beautiful smile gone from her pretty features, he could no longer justify such a heinous act.

It was wrong. So wrong. Everything was so fucking  _wrong_.

Stomping down mercilessly on his sorrow, Cullen knew he now had to focus on getting everyone safely back to Skyhold, including the Inquisitor.

"Are you injured?" He asked after a moment, preparing himself for the empty cadence of her voice.

"Yes."

He felt the anger well up within him again, and tried desperately to get himself under control. "Where?"

"The back of my head."

"It seems the injury was caused by the pommel of a sword. It probably knocked her unconscious," Dorian offered as Cullen sat her up and gently probed the affected area.

"That's likely. Can you stand?" He asked her.

"Yes."

"Come on, then."

Cullen took her hands in his own and, rising to his feet, pulled her to stand with him. He steadied her as they walked back out of the room, and if Dorian or Blackwall had felt anything other than their own sadness and pity at the sight of the Commander's tears, they'd said not a word.

* * *

The mists of the Fade drew lazily about, hovering close to the ground. The denizens that lived within generally did not disturb the fine white mist, but this one did. It did not prescribe to the typical behaviors of spirits, and as such found itself remarkably interested in the subtle taste of raw energy in the air.

It could sense her fear, her panic, her love and hate. A heady combination, to be sure, but it recognized it somehow.

The atmosphere swirled about its legs as it moved forward into the clearing where the emotions were the most potent, and it took a deep breath to take it all in. Yes. It knew this.

Reaching down toward the earth with pale fingers, it gently touched the white tresses, stained with blood at the ends. Fingers traced up back her soft hair again, brushing a length of it away from the bluish tinted face. Carefully, almost reverently, it placed its palms on either side of her head and lifted it up from the ground.

Evelyn, it said to itself, bringing her lifeless eyes up to his as it smiled. It had been a long time.

* * *

Skyhold was understandably subdued following the army's return. The celebration they'd intended on having once the Commander succeeded in snatching the Inquisitor from the jaws of death turned into something much resembling a wake. It was all they could do. The woman who had ridden home with Seeker Cassandra (for the Commander, many said , could not bear to look at her), was not their Inquisitor nor was she the Herald of Andraste. That woman was gone to the farthest reaches of the Fade, and in her place stood an emotionless husk that neither smiled nor laughed.

Evelyn's kindness, joy, and life were usurped by those that had taken her and, though she still lived, many agreed it seemed a hollow, meaningless existence. There were even some whispers that the woman should be put to death - to relieve her of what surely would have been misery had she the capacity to say anything on the matter.

Hawke heard all of these things within minutes of riding through Skyhold's gates with a frantic Peter. When they'd received word from Leliana about what had happened to the Trevelyans, he'd ridden hard toward Skyhold like a man possessed, and was nigh impossible to reason with. He did not eat, he barely slept, and as much as she found Peter irritating, Hawke could not blame him for his behavior. She understood what it was like to lose your family - watching them fall one-by-one, while, for some inexplicable reason, you remained standing.

Peter had jumped from his horse the moment they'd arrived, leaving Lir to the care of the stable hands. Marian certainly wasn't going to handle the beast. That damned horse hated her and was liable to chomp off her fingers should she get near enough to take hold of his reins.

As she dismounted from her own steed, her ears caught another bit of dually insightful and heart-rending gossip.

"He wanders around with this hopeless look on his face. Shame. He's so handsome," a serving girl said as she and her companion reclined in the shadows of the massive gate, likely taking a break from their duties.

"Well, what do you expect? Weren't he and the Lady Inquisitor involved? I heard from Gemma that he had even asked Lord Trevelyan's permission to woo her."

"Courtship? Really? In the middle of a war."

"Don't be so judgmental. Love doesn't wait."

"But one can hardly call the timing proper, and look at him now. How can he possibly command the Inquisition properly while he drifts about looking like a lost boy?"

"The way I hear it, from his own men no less, he's been throwing himself into his work. They're worried about him, obviously. After all, they saw her…"

The conversation drifted off, but Hawke didn't need to hear more. She needed to find Cullen and do...something. While Peter busied himself with his family, she would see to the Commander. Cullen was only one of a scant few friends she still had, and she owed it to him to give him some sort of comfort. She doubted anyone in Skyhold had thought as much about comforting  _him_  as they did his ability to command - which was fucking ridiculous. Cullen could talk his men into walking barefoot over a field of broken glass if he wanted to.

She looked for him first in his office, but he wasn't inside. She'd suspected as much from what the servants said. It was long after sunset, and she didn't think he would resign himself to the stuffy, overbearing room for long if he was grieving. In all likelihood he wouldn't sleep, either - as if he ever did when he was troubled.

Hawke recalled a time just after her battle with the Arishok. She'd been restless, and the summer heat had refused to dissipate even as the moon had risen high in the sky and Kirkwall became shrouded in darkness. Used to wandering about on her own, she had thought it strange that night, of all nights, as she had walked down to the docks, that she would see the Knight Captain. She had called out to him, unwilling to startle him into smiting the teeth out of her head by sneaking up on him. When he had turned, she had seen something for a brief moment in his expression- a small vulnerability that she had never associated with the man before. He was a Templar, after all, and a damn good one. He'd let her go, ignored the fact that she was an apostate, and had kept her abreast of events going on in the Gallows, knowing full well that she had been cleaning house. His house, to be precise. He had understood, begrudgingly, that she was only trying to help, even as he battled his own prejudices against her kind.

They had exchanged greetings, neither one given to small talk or meaningless pleasantries, and something of a tentative friendship had formed between them that night in the silence. Two Blight refugees had stood side by side, looking out over the harbor, trying to forget the irreparable damage that a single horrible year had caused them. As time went on, Hawke had found Cullen in that same spot a handful of other times, and she had simply wandered over and plopped down on the low sea wall, talking about anything and everything that came to mind.

His friendship, careful though it was, had been good for her, and she had vowed to be the same kind of solid presence for him when the time came. Well, here it was, and she was more than sorry for it. She really did like Evelyn, and the pain she could see on the faces of those that loved her…

It was horrible.

On a hunch, she climbed the crumbling stairs to the roof of a tower that had yet to be repaired since the Inquisition's occupation. The tower was dank, dark, and smelled like moldering cloth, so she increased her pace to get to the trapdoor that would lead her back out into the cool mountain air.

Ah, there he was. She had been right in thinking he'd want to get away from it all somewhere quiet, and with a fathomless view he could lose himself in forever. She knew that he knew she was there, but she waited a moment, giving herself time to take him in.

This was bad.

Cullen was pale, more so than usual, with dark circles beneath his eyes and a sunken quality about his face. His hair was disheveled, riotous curls gone untamed as his hands clutched at the strands in a way she suspected hurt just enough to keep him grounded - or to punish himself, she thought with a frown.

She wouldn't allow that.

Wordlessly, Hawke walked over and sat down next to him. He looked as if he had bonelessly slid down the wall of the battlements to hide himself away from the rest of the world, temporary as the reprieve was. They sat, she staring at the peaks of the snow-capped mountains barely lit by the sliver of the moon, and he with his gaze fixed firmly on the ground before him.

Cullen's body was tense, but he did not tell her to leave, and she wouldn't until he asked her to. Silent comfort was all she could give. It was all she knew how to do in a situation like this, but she hoped that it would be enough to simply exist with another human being.

Being alone, truly alone - that was dangerous.

Hawke lost track of time. It could have been hours before Cullen finally spoke to her, pulling her out of her own reverie.

"The mark on her hand - the one from Corypheus. We found that it can manipulate a Tranquil into experiencing emotion."

She looked over at him, a question in her eyes that remained unspoken. He elaborated.

"We were returning from the Dales and we had come within perhaps a few hundred feet of a rift. I wasn't with her at the time, but Cassandra tells me that Evelyn started screaming, crying, and tried to fight her off in a panic. Varric said that maybe it had something to do with the proximity to the Fade. He'd mentioned a friend of Anders - a Circle Tranquil that came to his senses when Justice did his...thing."

Hawke nodded. "I remember. That seemed to be the idea at the time. Anders said that exposure to the Fade might reintroduce a mage to- well, themselves. I confess I don't know much about Tranquil, other than that they scare me."

He nodded once and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. "Solas predicted that she would be able to still close rifts, as the mark itself is still functioning," he said bitterly. "I couldn't justify putting her into danger like that, though. Leliana, of course, was furious with me. We need to close the rifts, I understand that, but," he scrubbed at his face with his hands, "we've done enough to her. Of course, they didn't listen to me."

Something happened - something other than Evelyn becoming a Tranquil to upset him so. "Did they try to see if she could close the rift?"

"Yes, and it was awful. Sure, the rift was closed, but Evelyn experienced something...she looked at me like-" Cullen sighed again. "Like she was sorry. Her. Sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry. It was my leniency that led to this mess. If I hadn't let her go off without proper protection, this would never have happened."

She very much doubted that Cullen had neglected to give Evelyn the "proper protection", but saying as much would not make him feel better about the situation.

"What happened then?" she asked.

"The rift closed, and it was like she died in front of my eyes. Whatever piece of herself she found in the Fade was taken away, and that shell - that thing sleeping in her bed is  _not_  her."

Hawke's heart went out to him at the catch in his voice and the shaky breath he drew in after he'd spoken. She had never,  _never_  seen him so distraught. Hating her feeling of helplessness, she slipped her arm through his, clasping his hand tightly in her own while she rested her head against his shoulder.

I'm sorry, she wanted to say, but she knew that was meaningless.

Sorry wouldn't bring Evie back.

Sorry wouldn't heal Cullen's broken heart.

And sorry surely wouldn't soften the blow of having to use the woman he loved as a means to an end in the long run. As much as Hawke wanted to punch Leliana in the face for her ruthless tact, she understood the woman's point.

They needed Evelyn to finish this, Tranquil or not, and though Cullen wanted to fight it, she knew that eventually he would concede, for the greater good.

This whole situation was more crooked than a barrel of snakes.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" she asked.

"No. I can't keep anything down."

Hawke tried to school the frown that threatened to betray her concern for him. How long had he been using that excuse? Judging by the loose fit of his linen shirt and the way his trousers bunched around his hips, too long.

"What about something to drink?"

His laugh was short and forced. "Liquor will make it worse."

"I didn't mean alcohol." She stood, brushing away the dirt from her leggings, and offered him a hand up. "Come on. Let's see if your cook has what I need."

* * *

Cullen was unable to resist chocolate - or sweets of any kind, for that matter - which made Hawke's plan sure of success. The cook had eyed her warily as she swept into the kitchen with the Commander, bustling about and asking for the locations of the ingredients she needed. For his part, Cullen had watched her with a mix of curiosity and morose resignation. It would have made her feel bad if she didn't know this was for his benefit.

"What's this?" he asked as he sniffed the contents of the earthen mug she'd handed him a while later. It smelled sweet, wonderful even, but he'd never seen such a beverage in his life.

"You've never had hot chocolate?"

"Hot what?"

"Chocolate. You love chocolate."

He sniffed again, taking a tentative sip. For the smallest moment a look of surprised pleasure changed his features back into the Cullen she recognized.

"It's good."

She smiled at him, slipping a vial of pale blue liquid back into her belt. "It's an Antivan thing. I imagine Josephine is familiar with it."

Hawke watched as he took another sip, then another, and finally his eyelids began to droop. Perfect. He really did need to sleep. She felt a bit guilty about drugging him, but she didn't give him so much that it would incapacitate him. He would sleep for a few hours, and hopefully wake up feeling a bit more rested than he looked.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Peter was helping her lug the dead weight of the sleeping Commander up the stairs to the rotunda.

"Maker, he's heavy!"

"Yeah, well at least you didn't have to catch him!"

"You didn't catch him. He  _landed_  on you and pinned you to the floor."

"Better than cracking his head open on the hearth."

"Maybe you should have thought about where he was before drugging him."

"Look, stop criticizing me. He's a friend, and he needs his rest. He's been through a lot!"

Peter huffed, looking a bit contrite, but still pissed that he had to carry Cullen Rutherford up three very long flights of stairs to his quarters. He did agree with Hawke that the man needed to rest. Josephine had filled him in on the details of what had happened, and he could think of nothing worse that could happen to his sister - or her lover.

Peter genuinely liked Cullen, and knew that the man only had his sister's best interests at heart, so seeing him like this in addition to what his sister had become was obviously...challenging. If Samson's intention was to cripple the Inquisition, he had very nearly succeeded. He suspected it was only Cullen's training and discipline that kept him at the head of the armies. He was remarkably level-headed as far as his work went, at least according to Leliana and Josephine. It was in his down time that things fell apart.

Hawke knew, though, knew that he wouldn't be alright, and she knew where to find him. She also knew that he needed a push to get what he needed. Cullen hadn't eaten, nor had he slept since their return from the Dales - that much was obvious from his outward appearance. Hawke had successfully gotten something into him, at least, and forced him to rest. The apostate and the former Templar, while outwardly prickly in the company of others, cared about one another in some strange way. Seeing them together reminded him of an exasperated older brother and a petulant, mischievous, but loving younger sister.

"You think he'll be okay?" she asked when they'd finally deposited him on the couch in the rotunda. It was as far as Peter had been willing to carry him - he was not about to throw the man over his shoulder and lug him into the loft where he normally slept.

"I don't know," he replied with a frown.

She nodded, covering Cullen up with a blanket and tucking it beneath him. As much as it hurt her to admit it, she didn't think he would be okay.

"Let's go get something to drink. Something that'll knock me on my ass."

Peter rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Seconded. Do you know of anything that can make a brain stop working?"

"I could always hit you really, really hard."

"Yeah, no. I happen to like my face, thanks."

"Me too." She'd said, not thinking. Realizing a moment later what she'd done, her eyes flew to his in a minor panic. No, she absolutely did not want him to know she thought he was attractive.

He was, undoubtedly, and he was also snarky and boorish, and then stupidly polite when he wanted to be. If he knew she happened to find him attractive, she was sure she'd never hear the end of it. After months alone together, she figured she had a fairly good handle on his temperament.

Peter didn't make a smart comment, however. He didn't say anything at all. He merely regarded her with some undefinable heat in his eyes for a few moments, before breaking the spell of his gaze and leading the way to the tavern.

Ohhhh, was she in trouble.

The pair found themselves folded into the ranks of Bull's Chargers, a crowd in which Hawke seemed to fit easily enough. Peter had a bit of trouble being social, which was expected as his sister had been made Tranquil and his father was still struggling to recover from his injuries. It was with this in mind that Varric approached the human noble, mindful of Hawke's opinion of him. If her letters were anything to go by, she thought highly of Peter Trevelyan and, in Varric's mind, if Hawke liked him then he was alright.

"So, how're you holding up?"

Surprised, Peter looked up from Hawke's arm wrestling match with Dalish to see Varric settling himself down onto the bench.

"As well as you'd expect," he replied, his gaze returning to Hawke.

Interesting.

"Yeah, I'll bet." He ventured to try and change the subject. "So you've been gone a while. What's a guy like you doing wandering around in the Approach with Hawke and Curly?"

Peter smirked. "Not that you don't already know. I'm certain you do, but we're searching for signs of the Grey Wardens being involved with Corypheus."

"And?" Varric chuckled to himself. Of course Hawke had kept him updated on their dealings in Orlais.

"They are. Undoubtedly. We had planned on returning to Skyhold next week to help deal with what we've discovered."

"Ah, yeah. Hawke told me about some demon army they're raising."

He nodded, apparently either not concerned or surprised at Hawke's confidence in her dwarven friend. "What do you think of her?"

"Who, Hawke?"

"Marian."

That gave Varric pause. How could he answer that? Hawke meant a great deal to him. They had waded through so much bullshit together that they could rightly be called best friends. And, as a best friend, it was obvious to Varric that Peter felt something for her, but he couldn't read the man well enough to know what those feelings entailed.

That was damn impressive. Even so, he wasn't sure how much Hawke would have wanted him to say - or how little. If Peter wanted to know more about her, the idiot should just ask her himself.

He decided to deflect him with humor, and hope that the lack of an appropriate answer would give the poor bastard a shove in the right direction.

"Well, you see, Hawke is like a Mabari. She's fierce, loyal, ruthless, and she'll lick just about anything," he deadpanned, watching the shifting emotions on Peter's face before he burst into laughter.

"Oh, Maker," he sniggered, wiping an eye with the back of his wrist.

"Something  _funny?_ " Hawke asked, having finished her wrestling match. She now stood in front of Varric and Peter with her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed on Peter, then shifted to Varric.

He felt a shudder run down his spine.

Hawke was also as likely to shake your hand as she was to rip it off and beat you to death with it.

" _Well,_  it's getting late," Varric spoke, feigning a yawn as he slid off the bench. "I'll see you kids in the morning."

"Varric…" Hawke's tone held a warning, and he increased his pace away from them and out of the tavern. She turned her gaze back to Peter, who merely smiled at her.

"He didn't say anything bad."

She frowned, seeming unsure.

"Really." He stood, setting his empty tankard on the bar, now feeling a pleasant buzzing in his skull. "All he did was compare you to a Mabari."

Hawke drained the remainder of her third flagon and copied him, then turned to head up the stairway. "A  _Mabari?_ "

Perhaps she was going to set him on fire. She certainly looked like she wanted to, but if he were honest with himself she wouldn't need a spell or a match to do that anyway. Then she turned away, and whatever she was doing to him with her eyes ceased abruptly.

"He said something about loyalty and ferocity - nothing about being adorable and handsome. That's clearly  _my_  thing."

"Yes, obviously, I can see that," she snorted, arriving on the landing of the second floor.

At this hour the space was largely empty. Dim light from lanterns below bathed the space in a soft, orange glow. "But I blame that entirely on the ale."

He felt sort of offended at that. "I'm only handsome because of the ale? I suppose from you, I should take that as a compliment." Peter grumbled.

Why was she so difficult? They'd been dancing around this mutual attraction for months. He wasn't stupid. He saw the way she looked at him while she thought he wasn't paying attention. He supposed if his intentions ran as shallow as typical physical lust that would be one thing, but they didn't. He honestly didn't know precisely what he felt for her, but it was more than just the simple way a man wanted a woman.

"You should," she quipped, turning to face him. Instead she was greeted by the broad expanse of his chest as he stood close - much too close - to her. She should have stepped away to put some distance between them, but she couldn't seem to find the willpower to do so.

He stood at least a head taller than her, requiring her to look up to meet his eyes. Almost in concert with that thought, he reached out and gently nudged her chin with his forefinger, forcing her to look at him.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said quietly.

"If you're thinking of bringing up that Mabari bullshit, think again."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No. It has nothing to do with that. I want to know if you really truly do dislike me."

Her jaw might have dropped has his finger not remained firmly beneath her chin. That certainly wasn't what she'd expected to hear. Dislike him?

"What?"

"You heard me."

She looked away - anywhere but his eyes which looked far too earnest just then. "I don't understand," she muttered.

He let out a small sigh. "I guess that makes two of us, but please," Peter brought up his other hand, shifting the one from beneath her jaw to cradle her face between his palms, "just tell me if you hate me."

She tried to shake her head, but found she couldn't, caged as she was, so she rolled her eyes and sighed. "No. Jeez. No, I don't hate you. That's a ridiculous question."

The corner of his mouth twitched as if he intended to argue with her. Instead, he ran his thumb across her lower lip.

Hawke's heart beat echoed loudly in her chest, breaths coming out low and fast. She felt a little dizzy. Too much ale on an empty stomach, of course. It had to be the ale, but damn he was gorgeous.

"Say it again."

She swallowed, feeling the heat of a blush burn her cheeks. "I don't hate you."

"That's fortunate."

His mouth closed over hers, and she really felt like she should have taken that step back.

Peter's dexterous, powerful hands tightened on her face as his kiss seemed to sweep through her like a force of nature. Who or what had taught him to kiss like  _this_ , she thought? She could hardly stand. To steady herself, she was obliged to curl her fingers around his shoulders.

When he felt her clutching him - holding herself to him, he groaned and folded her completely into his arms, tightening his hold until her breasts were crushed against his chest.

"Maker help me, I don't know why, but I've wanted to kiss you since you first threatened to kill me."

She would never say that Peter Trevelyan was particularly articulate, but she found his admission thrilling none the less. Hawke was momentarily stunned by the torrent of emotions running through her.

"This is crazy," she breathed heavily.

"Yeah, it is," he leaned down to bite at the sensitive skin on her throat, "but we both agreed back in the sulfur pits that I'm probably crazy, remember?"

She shuddered at the sensation. "No. Really, I think it's the ale."

Peter backed her up to the wall, sliding a knee between her thighs. "It's not the ale."

"It has to be." He kissed her again, this time further down her throat. "We'll both regret this after we sober up."

"It's not the ale," he grumbled.

"The more I think about it, the more sense it ma-ah!" She winced as his teeth closed over her earlobe.

" _It's_   _not the fucking ale_."

Her body was ardently responding to his now, sighing and shuddering beneath his skilled mouth and fingers. "O-of course it is. It's not like we're actually fond of each other in that way."

He lifted his head abruptly, hand immediately gone from her body as he took a strained step backward. Anger, irritation, and another heated emotion burned in his gaze as he looked at her.

"Must you argue every Maker-damned point, Marian?"

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to catch her breath and resisting the urge to fling herself at him. No. That would be a mistake.

"We can't even do this sort of thing in a civilized manner," she said.

" _This sort of thing?"_

She shook her head, trying to get her damn mind off of him. "What would  _you_  call it?"

" _Some_  people would refer to it as passion."

Passion. Crap. This had gone too far. She didn't mean for this to happen. Suddenly a terrible stillness gripped the room shortly before Peter looked away with a long sigh.

"Nevermind"

She watched him turn abruptly and hurry down the stairs and, a moment later, heard the front door to the tavern slam shut.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the support, guys! We're almost out of the woods!

Cullen woke before the sun had risen feeling markedly more rested than he had in the last few days, despite not waking up in the place he had fallen asleep. Hawke's doing, he knew. While he might have been upset at her meddling, he knew she had done it out of concern. He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tasting a combination of elfroot and some other herb he was sure had been mixed into some kind of sleeping draught - and slipped into that chocolate drink.

With a sigh, he rolled to his feet and stretched with his arms above his head, blinking bleary eyes against the soft light of the candles that illuminated the keep during the midnight hours. For a moment he considered passing through the door that would lead him to his office, but almost of their own volition, his feet instead carried him out into the main hall and past the throne to the heavy portal that lead to Evelyn's chambers. He'd no idea why he was here, climbing the stairway to her room when the whole of the trip back to Skyhold he could scarcely look at her. It hurt. He knew it was foolish, but seeing her so empty when once she was so full of life filled him with a desperate kind of sadness. It ate at his resolve until he felt the hot prickle of tears forming in his eyes, and he simply could not have that in front of his men. While they weren't stupid enough to be ignorant of how Evelyn's condition was affecting him, they most certainly did not need to see him reduced to tears to cement the notion.

Cullen knocked once against her bedroom door and waited a moment. When there was no answer, he shook his head to remind himself it was still the small hours of the morning. Of course she wouldn't answer. She was likely asleep. He hesitated only a moment before quietly opening the door, closing it behind him, and taking the short flight of stairs up to the landing. The space was quiet, and the embers of a small fire glowed in the hearth while windows and doors remained firmly closed.

He felt a pang of disappointment. Evelyn would never have closed these doors on such a calm night. She'd told him not long ago that she preferred them open so she could remain more a part of the outdoors, since she'd spent the majority of her life locked up in a tower where fresh air was a precious commodity. His eyes moved from the doors to the still baubles that hung motionlessly overhead, and then to the still form on the large bed. There Evelyn slept soundly, her dreams no longer coloring her night time hours.

Carefully, almost guiltily, he crept over to her bedside and lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. He sat for a few minutes, simply taking her in. Maker, she looked so normal - so peaceful. He was loath to disturb her, but all the same he reached out to gently brush his fingertips against her hair. She stirred, and he froze. He really didn't want to wake her. Her body needed rest to recover from her ordeal, though she bore no emotional scars from her trauma. When she settled down again he threaded his fingers through her hair and just enjoyed the feeling of domesticity. When she woke, it would feel like anything but, but for now he needed this. At least, he thought it did. If nothing else, at least he could pretend everything was fine, everything was normal - that he was certain part of him hadn't died back in that fortress.

When she again stirred, he pulled his hand away entirely away and forced himself to cease disturbing her. Instead, he got to his feet and wandered the space, coming to a stop in front of Evelyn's parchment-laden desk. Stacks of books crowded around the table, a fair few being his own, as he'd still an empty bookshelf standing in his office. It wasn't the books that caught his attention, however - it was the high stack of parchment set neatly at the corner of her desk crowded with her neat handwriting. Curious, and still feeling a little guilty, he took the top sheet and scanned over its contents, surprised to find it was a collection of dates, names, and quotes from the texts she had been pursuing while he was away in the Approach. They'd spoken a little of her readings, and they'd shared many of the same opinions, but she'd said no more of her project after they'd returned from the Winter Palace. It appeared she had been continuing her collection of Chantry injustices.

 _1:20 Divine_ , one entry states,  _The Circle of Magi is formed in addition to the Templar Order and the Seekers of Truth out of the first Inquisition. Policing of magic was enforced primarily by the Templars, but the Circled retained some autonomy and several colleges were formed where mages could practice their work freely with some exceptions. Mages were only ever punished should they show criminal intent or mental instability, and at such time they would be removed to Aeonar for confinement. Reports of killing remain few, and the Rite of Tranquility is not mentioned._

 _I wonder,_ a note below read in much smaller handwriting,  _if Aeonar is empty now. One would think it would be full of apostates, but Templar Hunters simply kill mages if they are unable to bring them into a Circle. No one knows exactly where the mage prison is, but it would be interesting to pay a visit and see what it is like._

Cullen didn't know where Aeonar was, either. It's location was known to only a few members of his old order, and they were those who spent a great deal of time at the White Spire, of which Cullen had only been inside a handful of times in his life. He read on.

_5:08 Exalted, mage accused of practicing blood magic in Anderfels' Circle library. He is struck down and killed by Templar on duty. Post mortem investigation revealed the mage bore no signs of practicing blood magic, and is revealed to simply have suffered a bloody nose. In light of this new information, justification for this mage's death is not recanted, and the Templar responsible receives no disciplinary action._

_5:33 Exalted, A rash of murders reported at the Starkhaven Circle. All victims female and died from blows to the head made by a weapon pommel. All victims murdered at the onset of their menstrual cycle. When Templar responsible was found out, he accused the women of blood magic. He was not punished. Two more deaths occurred before he was sent away to another Circle._

_5:36 Exalted, Templar from Starkhaven sent to Kirkwall where he commits another murder. His second intended victim fights back and kills him. She is accused of blood magic and is put to death._

_7:00 Storm, Mage at Kinloch Hold reported as too afraid to take Harrowing. Not offered second attempt. Made Tranquil against will._

Cullen stopped there, unable to look at that word without feeling the bile rise in his throat. Tranquil. He would never feel the same way about it ever again. Still, Evelyn had collected pages and pages of injustices committed not only by the Circles, but by the Chantry as well, and had intended to organize them in such a way that it made it very clear that the current system by which the Chantry administered the Circles was not humane. Surely this was meant to benefit the mages remaining.

His eyes fell onto an equally large stack of parchment on the opposite side of the desk. This group appeared to be completed, for on the top-most sheet only a few words were scrawled.

_Chantry Abuse of Templars_

Curious, he leafed through the reports, stunned by how numerous they were. Of course, he knew that the Chantry was lax in disciplining their police force, but when they did choose to take action, the result was always the same.

_1:73 Divine, Ser Wilmington accused and found guilty of theft. Expelled. Died four days later._

_1: 99 Divine, Ser Gallehey expelled due to dishonorable conduct. Given a week's ration of Lyrium. Fourteen days later found dead in an alley in Minrathous._

_3: 55 Towers, Ser Hunt and Ser Keenan refuse to kill mage under suspicion of using blood magic. They are expelled. Hunt goes mad and kills Keenan over last dose of Lyrium. He dies one week later from injuries sustained._

_5: 10 Exalted, Templar unknown found wandering fields near Kinloch Hold mad with Lyrium withdrawals. Taken in by rural family to whom he told his story. Chantry sent Templars to arrest the unknown brother, and silence the family._

There was a side note here. It read,  _Chantry seemed keen on keeping their method of controlling Templar recruits quiet. Not enough sources to confirm._

_5:15 Exalted, Ser Ainsley ordered to lie in an effort to silence Ostwick's First Enchanter, accusing him of blood magic. Ainsley refused and was imprisoned. Lyrium was withheld until he began to lose his senses. Eventually he agreed to testify against the mage, was given Lyrium, and executed after the trial to keep him quiet._

Cullen winced. Enough. This was difficult to wade through, his own struggle with his addiction and subsequent failure settling too close to his heart as he reviewed these sad stories. That was just it. These were but a handful of injustices the Chantry had committed against his brothers.

His eyes traveled over to the yet unfinished account of the mages and his stomach turned. How many thousands of people died at the hands of the power-mad Chantry sisters and brothers - not mages and Templars, but people just like he and Evelyn? Maker, the thought alone was enough to raise his blood pressure.

Had the Chantry never abused their hold over his kind or the mages, would they even be in the sorry state they were in? Could all of the bloodshed in Kirkwall been avoided? Maker, would Uldred have never been desperate enough to sacrifice hundreds in order to be heard? If the mages were never so panicked over the simple act of living, would they need to seek the embrace of demons for power and comfort?

He sat heavily in Evelyn's desk chair, scrubbing his hands over his face.

What happened? Where had they gone so horribly, inexplicably wrong?

It took him a few moments to collect himself sitting there in the too-quiet room, thinking about who the Templar's real enemy had been all along. Resolved, he stood, gathered all of the loose pages on Evelyn's desk and strode toward the door.

He would need to organize his thoughts before addressing Cassandra with them. Evelyn had been working on this project largely with the Seeker's support, he knew, so she should at least be receptive to hearing what he had to say on the matter. The problem lay in just how radical his change of heart had been in the last few months.

Knowing Evelyn, seeing the faces of all of those beneath the Inquisition's care, had altered something in his heart he couldn't place before now. After Kinloch Hold, he'd been so closed off and angry at the world - mages, in particular - that he'd shut down and simply existed. Hawke had succeeded in bringing him out of his shell, and she had become somewhat of a friend in their dealings together in the City of Chains. He'd hated himself for weeks for allowing the apostate to leave his sight. What if she turned into an abomination, he'd thought? Her tenacity and shrewd diplomacy had ultimately won him over, though. Slowly, he'd accepted that Hawke was no danger to him and, of course, that had gotten him thinking about the others under his care.

Care.

That word hadn't meant nearly as much to him then as it did now. He was going to do something about this, he thought. He was finally going to speak out against the Chantry for their willful abuse of those in  _their_  care. They would not hurt anyone else if he was to say anything about it, and he was finally in a position where his protests held some weight.

First, however, he needed to be certain he wasn't going completely insane.

Cullen stuttered to a halt before the bed as he passed it, feeling conflicted. Evelyn still lay sound asleep, and though she was not really the same person she had been before the Rite, it was difficult to repress the feelings of affection he had toward her. Maker, he'd loved her, body and soul. How was he supposed to simply stop at the drop of a hat?

Biting his lip as he stood warring with himself, he grumbled a venomous "sod it". Changing course, he tucked the pages beneath his arm and leaned over the bed to place a quick kiss against the side of her head before righting himself. As he pulled away, a pale hand snaked out to catch the linen sleeve of his shirt.

"You're here?" she asked.

Many who had no close contact with the Tranquil might have assumed that they were mentally dormant in addition to being emotionally dead and highly suggestible. That was simply not true. Tranquil made for excellent researchers as a result of their extremely logical and inquisitive nature. There was no desire to see an experiment succeed, only an unending perseverance to prove a hypothesis either correct or incorrect.

Tranquil had no intuition, either, but it was curious for him at one time in his life to note that they still maintained certain habits he'd assumed were from their previous lives. His assumption was validated in these last few days when they had returned to Skyhold. At first, he'd been unable to look at Evelyn for fear of losing the contents of his stomach to the sudden and violent realization that his lover was no longer with him. She might as well have been dead, so different was this emotionless replica from the woman he loved. Despite the fact that he consistently avoided her presence, she had sought him out on many occasions, often not knowing why, only that her feet had taken her to him. If a Tranquil could have looked puzzled, he reflected, she would have appeared mightily confused.

Finding herself in odd places was not restricted merely to Cullen's presence, either. Evelyn had turned up near Cassandra, Blackwall, Dorian, and all of her other haunts with the same precise timing each day as had been ingrained into her routine before her maiming, though some were more receptive to her presence than others.

"I'm here," he replied quietly. He didn't really know how to speak to her, and in the middle of that thought, he realized he was being foolish. Although Evelyn was Tranquil, she was still a person, and it would be terrible of him to treat her as if she were anything else. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I saw what you've written so far - your project on the mages and Templars under Chantry supervision."

She nodded, sitting up a bit straighter against the pillows. "It was my intention to bring it forward at the next war room meeting. You recall there was a Revered Mother here not too long ago asking after Leliana and Cassandra?"

"Yes. She wanted to persuade one of them to make a bid for the seat of the Divine."

Evelyn nodded again, and he imagined a delicate little smile on her lips. "The Chantry should not be rebuilt, and neither should the Circles. The loss of life has been catastrophic since its inception. When one considers the good work they profess to carry on with throughout Thedas, the results present much differently."

Cullen didn't think he could have spoken more succinctly on the matter without letting his personal beliefs muddy the point. "I happen to agree with that." He looked down at his lap where his hands were folded together upon the sheaf of papers. "To that end, I would like to show these accounts to Cassandra before you present them to the others. I believe the Inquisition has the potential to be the loudest voice in this argument, if we are to take it to Val Royeaux, and it would benefit us to have everyone on the same page before making any hasty decisions."

Evelyn nodded almost immediately. "Of course. Your judgement is sound."

" _Sound_ judgement? Evie, he's just as hot-headed as any Templar I've ever met."

Both Evelyn and Cullen looked up to find Peter leaning over the rail separating the stairway from the rest of the bedroom, chin propped up on the heel of his hand. Cullen was relieved to see him. Hawke had mentioned he'd returned with her last night, but he was in such a sorry state he'd not wanted to see anyone.

"I'm not  _that_  bad."

Peter snorted at this blatant covering up of the truth and turned his attention to Evelyn. "I need to borrow your Commander for a moment, but Leliana asked me to also tell you there will be a meeting in the war room in one hour." He motioned Cullen toward the door before tossing an object in Evelyn's direction. She caught the object on reflex, opening her hands to reveal a small orange fruit.

If she could have smiled, Cullen would have liked to think she'd have been beaming at her brother for the thoughtful present.

"Thank you," she simply said. "I was getting hungry."

The two men left her to her breakfast, and as soon as the door closed Peter let out a long sigh. "That really, really pisses me off."

"You hide it better than I do," Cullen grumbled as they descended the stairs to the main hall side-by-side.

"Barely, but my sister isn't what I wanted to speak to you about. Cassandra left late last night for Caer Oswin. She thinks the remaining Seekers have been gathered there, and that she can bring them into the Inquisition without much of a fuss. Lucius is dead, after all. They're probably all sitting around twiddling their thumbs, waiting for a new Divine to be named."

"Why didn't you go with her?"

"Trust me, after the night I had, I tried. She refused, though. Said something about being here for my sister even though there is clearly nothing I can do at this point, and my father…" he trailed off, not quite sure how he felt about that.

Peter and Adair Trevelyan had never got on well, but their relationship had become considerably strained when Peter had left the family abruptly without a word to anyone but Evelyn regarding his intentions. When he'd finally come around again, it was after he'd been instated as a Seeker, and his reasons for joining the order did not please his father one bit.

Peter despised the Templars for what they did to his youngest brother, and he was going to be part of an organization that could bring the most powerful warriors in Thedas to heel. Not one more mage would needlessly perish under his watch.

"Your father is as stubborn as Evelyn," Cullen replied when Peter failed to finish his thought. "He's recovering well, and the healers say he will be well before month's end."

"I'm more worried about him after he sees Evelyn. Sure, he knows what happened and he's obviously upset by it, but hearing is different than seeing. Seeing something - experiencing it - makes it real."

"You've gone to see him then?"

"Yeah. We don't get along, but he almost died and - shit, he's my dad, you know? As much of a stubborn, opinionated ass that he is, I still care about him."

Cullen felt almost relieved to be discussing troubles that were not his own. There was an odd kind of catharsis in listening to Peter vent, and he suspected the man needed an ear badly. Evelyn was his sister, after all, and as he'd said, his father had very nearly died. Not to mention that Aaron was still at large, if he was even alive. Cullen suspected the coward still lived - he had scoured the dead and did not find one sign of the eldest Trevelyan sibling.

"I understand," Cullen said, but sensed there was something else bothering his friend. "Have you seen Hawke? I mean to extract a promise from her to never drug me again. I  _still_  feel groggy. You'd think she was trying to knock out a bronto."

Peter wrinkled his nose at the mention of her name. "Don't flatter yourself. You probably weigh as much as one - a baby," he amended.

So Hawke was the problem. Cullen should have guessed. She tended to place herself at the center of many headaches.

Ignoring Peter's flimsy insult, he waited for the other shoe to drop.

Three...Two...One…

"Do you know much about Fenris?" Peter asked.

Ah ha. Jealousy, was it? He suspected something might have been going on between Hawke and Peter, but he'd left them in the Approach before he could read anything too telling. It appeared their association had only strengthened during his absence. He found himself curious just the same. Peter didn't really seem like Hawke's type, if for nothing else than that they appeared to be too much alike.

"I never knew him personally, only that he was a friend of Hawke's and they had some interest in one another for a time." Hawke had told him more than that, but he wouldn't betray her confidence so easily. "After things in Kirkwall had settled down, he left the city. I think I overheard someone say he'd made his way to Seheron. Why do you ask?"

Of course  _he_  knew  _why_ , but he wanted to see if Peter did.

The Seeker huffed in irritation as they passed through the large double doors and out into the open air. "She's hung up on him and it's pissing me off."

Caught between a rock and a hard place - the story of his life - Cullen debated both what and how much to say. "I think Hawke prefers her life simple. Fenris...complicated things at a time when she was particularly vulnerable, and she is probably still carrying that unresolved part of her life around with her. I expect she's wary of anything even remotely resembling her association with the elf."

There, that wasn't saying too much, and hopefully he'd said it in such a way that it wasn't completely confusing. He was  _not_  good at this sort of thing. Like Bull, Cullen preferred to work out frustration in one of two ways, and finding something to hit was infinitely easier than his other option - not that he'd made much of a habit of it since Kirkwall.

If anything, his words seemed to only make Peter's posture sag further, and he wondered just how invested the Seeker was in Hawke, for whatever had happened between them to elicit such a reaction. Fortunately, the clatter of hooves on the stone of the courtyard below drew both of the men's attention as Cassandra rode into Skyhold like a fury, her expression grim and her movements stiff.

"Well she looks like a bloody ray of sunshine, doesn't she?" Peter muttered under his breath as they moved down into the yard.

"More like a hurricane," Cullen replied, greeting Cassandra in the next breath.

"There is a cure," she said firmly and without preamble.

Cullen frowned, not daring to hope. "A cure for…?"

"Evelyn. The Tranquil. The Rite can be reversed." She brandished a very large book at him as if it were a sword. "It is all written in here. Secrets passed down from the first Seekers and then to Lucius - he was not dead, by the way. I do not know how it is done, I have not yet read that far, but there is a way and it has been documented in ages past."

Cullen's plans for the day had shifted entirely on their heads, and for once he welcomed the unexpected. "That's-"

"Brilliant!" Peter interrupted, his expression as open and sincere as Cullen had ever seen it. It appeared that Hawke was forgotten - at least for the moment.

"Trevelyan, get your ass up here and bring the Commander. War room!"

Perhaps not.

Hawke didn't stay, however. She retreated into the keep without a backward glance, entirely missing Peter's irritated rolling of his eyes at her flippancy.

Cassandra, Cullen, and Peter entered the war room a short time later and listened while Hawke briefed Leliana and Josephine on what she and Peter had managed to glean from their excursion to Adamant. Neither of them had been able to get very close to the fortress, unfortunately, but they had been able to get fairly accurate numbers with regards to guard rotations and, of course, the Wardens' role in aiding agents of Corypheus - a bloody Darkspawn.

Evelyn stood between Cullen and her brother, listening carefully to the conversation while nursing a cup of tea.

"You're certain there's a rift above the fortress?" she asked.

"Positive," Hawke replied. "Peter was able to see it from the southern stretch of the keep."

"And you overheard that they wish to bring demons through it?" Cassandra chimed in, staring thoughtfully down at the large map stretched out along the table.

"A "demon army" were Clarel's exact words in the letters I managed to intercept. The woman really should have tried to write in code." He waved a hand as if to dismiss that last thought. "Anyway, they've bound their mages to demons, and plan on using that combined force to pull even more demons out of the Fade, entirely unbound. Stupid, to be sure, but if your goal is to plummet the world into absolute chaos, I'd wager she's doing a bang-up job. Her mother would be so proud."

Cullen was tense, every fiber of his being screaming at him to deal with this threat before the Wardens managed to single-handedly serve Thedas a death sentence. "Hawke, have you tried to send word to Solona?"

She nodded, and a look passed between her and Leliana. "We have a decent lead on her whereabouts, but we're still waiting on a reply. She's made herself scarce lately."

Leliana nodded in confirmation. "I have also sent word to Alistair on this matter. He's fortifying Ferelden's borders as we speak, though, for obvious reasons, he needs to remain in the capital. This news also came as a complete surprise to him, so that leads us to believe that the Orlesian Wardens are acting alone."

"Thank the Maker for small mercies, then," Cullen sighed, rubbing the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. "So essentially we are trying to decide how to best thwart Clarel's plans."

"While saving as many Wardens as we can," Evelyn spoke up. "We are still uncertain if Corypheus' appearance signifies the beginning of a sixth Blight."

"We need to get into Adamant, close that Rift and deal with Clarel. Perhaps some Wardens can be made to see reason, but the mages have been lost," Peter said.

"I agree," was Hawke's reply as she and Peter shared a look across the war table.

The tension in the room was suddenly ratcheted up a hundred degrees but, as ever, Cassandra barged through it like an angry druffalo. "Then it's settled. We march for Adamant Fortress. I'll deal with preparing the men while Cullen draws up a viable plan of attack."

Cullen's lips twitched in amusement at her appropriation of their plans, but he didn't mind. The meeting was concluded with everyone issued tasks to prepare for their march.

* * *

"The Commander's idea to have the mages and rogues up on the battlements is a great idea, especially with these runes I've been working on. Just wait until you see!"

Hawke was interested, but gave Dagna a wide berth for the illustration of her experiment. Varric stood beside her, there to give his opinion on the enchantment for rogues should they decide it was something they could use in the assault.

"Tell me again why we need more things that are liable to blow up in our faces?"

Hawke smiled. "Because everything is more fun when it's on fire, didn't you know?"

Varric snorted. "Guess not. Like a normal person, when I see fire, I tend to start walking the other way. We dwarves are highly flammable."

"Here we go!" Dagna called from across the undercroft.

The enthusiastic dwarf let loose an excited giggle before throwing the rune some distance away. The very moment it struck the stone floor, the enchantment activated and the resulting explosion threw Dagna onto her back while Hawke and Varric had to shield their faces from the flash of heat.

The young arcanist popped back up onto her feet looking none the worse for wear, if a bit sooty, and cheered her success. "Yes! That was amazing! It was perfect!" She rounded on her spectators, eyes wild with the excited light of a mad scientist. "What did you think?"

"It was explosive, fiery, and lethal. It's absolutely perfect," Varric chuckled, his sarcasm not lost on Hawke, who grinned at Danga.

"I'm sure Commander Cullen would be very pleased with it, but perhaps make the force of the explosion a bit less...potent?"

"Oh, haha! Don't worry about that. It only looked that dangerous because I was standing so close, but I can look into taming the force a bit. No sense in blasting our own men off of the top of a fort, right?" She giggled, picking up the rune and continuing to rattle off about enchantments, explosions, and the excitement of playing with the more lethal elements.

"Varric," Hawke said as the pair of them turned to make for the main hall, "this is what it would be like if we had kids."

"A crazy, fire-loving, dwarf with no sense of self-control? Yeah, you're probably right."

* * *

The trebuchets fired overhead while the Inquisition's men stormed the walls of Adamant Fortress under heavy cloud cover. It made the temperature in the desert easier to deal with, certainly, but it added an ominous feel to the air that Cullen could not shake.

On foot he traveled between checkpoints, ensuring everyone knew what they were supposed to do before they had to do it. He'd already sent Hawke and Peter in with the rest of their sneaky friends, and from what he could see of the battle, things were progressing well.

"Commander!"

Cullen turned to find one of his runners out of breath and grinning.

"The battering ram is ready, Commander. We should be able to punch through their gates and get the rest of the army inside in the next few minutes."

"Good," Cullen said quickly. "Go and tell them to proceed. I'll be there shortly."

He spied Evelyn nearby, tending to a few of their wounded. Even without her magic, she was a proficient nurse, though Cullen had gone rounds with Cassandra about bringing the Inquisitor into the battle at all. His emotions were still raw from what happened in the Dales, and he wasn't sure he could take another scare on Evelyn's behalf. Despite his worry, she'd shown good sense in staying behind the front lines.

"How many wounded?" he asked as he approached her.

"Thirteen. Two have sustained mortal injury, but the rest should fare well once they see a physician." She stood, wiping her bloodied hands on her robes. "I would ask that you let me go with the others into the keep once we are able."

"No. Absolutely not."

"That does not make sense, Cullen. It would be wise to allow me to close the rift before the Wardens can bring any more demons through."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll escort you to the rift myself once this is finished, but not in the middle of battle."

"We may lose if you don't let me go now-"

She was interrupted by the loud sound that cracked through the air as the main gate fell to the battering ram. Happy for a distraction from what would surely become a circular argument, Cullen hurried over to bark orders to his men and see them inside.

Evelyn, positive that Cullen's plan had much more room for error than her own, slipped past him while he was distracted with assisting the wounded to the rear of the assault. She made her way into the fortress, keen on getting to the top to close that rift and see that no more demons made their way into their world.

She followed behind several soldiers, allowing them to cut a path for her through the hostile Wardens until she came to the top of a stair near the ramparts. There she saw Hawke, Peter, and Varric herding the last of a large group of demons off of the walls, forcing them to fall into the courtyard below.

"Peter!" Evelyn called, noting the surprise with which her brother regarded her as she made her way to him.

"Evie? What in the Maker's name are you doing up here? You're supposed to stay below with the wounded!"

She nodded. "I understand, but that is not going to win this battle. I need to get there." She turned and pointed toward the sickly green glow emanating from the uppermost tier of the fortress. "I need to close that rift quickly."

A look passed between Peter, Hawke, and Varric, but it was Hawke to replied to her.

"Evelyn, if you think it's important we go now, we could get you there."

"I have to be there, and it is imperative that we move now. Unless that rift is closed there will be more demons, and it is very likely we will be overrun."

Hawke nodded, as well as Peter. "Right. We'll get you there."

Varric hefted Bianca onto his shoulder with a small smile. "Stick with me, Sunshine, and let your brother and Hawke do all of the heavy lifting."

"Of course. You know I cannot fight," Evelyn replied blandly.

Their small party had drawn closer and closer to the rift, and as their proximity increased, they could all see the changes in Evelyn. Rifts were, after all, doors to the Fade, and given her previous experience with a much smaller rift, Hawke was unsurprised that the Inquisitor began to show steadily more emotion than she had before. By the time they had met up with Blackwall, Bull, Stroud and Cassandra, and stormed into the landing containing the Fade rift, Evelyn seemed almost back to her old self.

"Remember, Inquisitor, not all of the Wardens have supported Clarel's plan," Stroud had said as they fought their way skyward.

"Didn't support it?" Peter scoffed, sticking a dagger through one of the abominations. "They supported it by not putting Clarel down like the mad dog she is! Doing nothing is still doing something!"

"Peter, enough!" Evelyn yelled, and all eyes turned to her with a mixture of shock and pleasant surprise.

Tranquil did not have such outbursts.

"People are scared and they are dying. We'll save the judgement for after the battle, alright?"

Peter nodded, still seething that the Grey Wardens, touted as such selfless heroes, could be such bloody cowards when Thedas needed heroes most.

Stroud led them through a set of doors, and on the other side were the remaining Wardens. They were all gathered together in the center of the space where the rift pulsed its sickening green light, watching as the person Evelyn could only assume was the Warden Commander slit the throat of another warden. Horrified, her eyes flit about the space, but none seemed to make a move to stop her and her murderous scheming.

"Hold them!" One man, the only other atop the platform with Clarel, said as he pointed directly at her. "If they interrupt the ritual then this will have all been for nothing!"

"Wait!" Evelyn called, separating herself from the others with her hands splayed out in supplication. She searched for Clarel's gaze, and once their eyes met, Evelyn addressed her and her alone. "Clarel, you cannot go through with this. Don't you see what you're doing?"

Clarel winced, but the other man, someone her brother referred to as Erimond, spoke up.

"Don't realize what, Inquisitor? That we're keeping the world safe from Darkspawn and preventing any more Blights? Oh yes, that's so very terrible!"

Evelyn did not care for his tone. If he truly believe those words, then he was an idiot. "You are making blood sacrifices of your men to perform a ritual you barely understand, Clarel! How will this benefit anyone, least of all the rest of Thedas?

"The Wardens do what they must, Inquisitor!" Clarel finally spoke, voice hard. "We make the hard decisions that no one else is willing to do. Our warriors die for a world that will never thank them."

Hawke growled. "This is about thanks? That's a petty reason to kill so many of your own. What price do you place on a life, I wonder, that makes it so worth your squandering?"

Stroud was right there with her. "Clarel, stop this foolishness! Your Tevinter is binding the mages to Corypheus. He has no intention of leading any of you to the Deep Roads. He seeks to raise a demon army, and you have all but given it to him on a silver platter."

That gave Clarel pause, her momentarily panicked expression making Evelyn feel sorry for her.

"Corypheus? He's supposed to be dead."

"And you've been living under a rock!" Hawke snarled, eying the may bodies that lay at Clarel's feet. Blood magic was never the answer. It would always, always make things worse.

Erimond was quick to intervene when it was clear Clarel's confidence in their plan was wavering.

"They'll say anything to take the Wardens down, Clarel. The Inquisition wants to take over Thedas, and with it, to wrest control of the order. We cannot let that happen."

Bolstered by the blatant lie, but clearly unwilling to listen to anything else, Clarel's eyes hardened once again and she nodded toward a group of mages. "Keep going! Bring it through!"

The mages began pouring energy into the rift, and the remaining Wardens began to take up defensive positions around them. It was clear this situation was going downhill fast.

"I trained half of you myself," Stroud barked. "Don't make me kill you to end this foolishness!"

Many of the Wardens hesitated, the younger generation appearing indecisive. Were they committed enough to Clarel to kill their mentor?

Sensing this chink in their defenses, Evelyn moved in again. This time she addressed all of the Wardens present. "The world owes the grey Wardens a debt it can never repay. Please, I beg of you to listen to reason. I would never stand against your order if I did not  _know_  you were being taken advantage of. Corypheus wants you all out of the way, and to misuse your skills to his own ends. If this were really the one way to stop recurring Blights, do you not think the Wardens of ages past lacked the resolve to see it through?"

"Enough of this!" Erimond roared, banging his staff on the ground. Red tendrils of light slithered up the length of the weapon and over his arm. "My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor. He sent this as a welcoming gift!"

The roar overhead was one of those sounds Evelyn wished she would never hear again, but as much as she did not want it to be true, she couldn't deny the sight of the arch demon - or whatever it was - flying overhead. The beast swooped down low, opening its putrid maw to canvas the area in its Blighted fire.

Back on the ground with his men, Cullen shoved down his worry at Evelyn's absence, knowing in his heart that she had gone inside the keep against his wishes. Between himself and Barris, they fought to keep a way back open for her and the rest of their friends from the fighting. It appeared as if the bulk of the conflict had moved on, however, and Cullen was just readying to give the order to move further inside when he saw that beast from Haven circling overhead.

"That's the archdemon!" Barris called, having seen the devastation it had caused first hand.

"It seems that Corypheus is here," Cullen agreed. "Inquisition! Forward!"

They could not wait. With the dragon circling overhead, their time was considerably limited. Forging a path forward through the straggling demons, he stopped only when the ground beneath his feet shook violently. Steadying himself, he looked up just in time to see the tallest portion of the fortress crumble and plummet into the canyon below.

 _Maker, please_ , he chanted to himself as he hurried his soldiers through the fortress,  _let her be alright._


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so appreciate all of the comments, friends! Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedules to leave them!

"Maker, be careful with that!" a familiar voice grumbled from somewhere above her.

"Stop complaining and... Just. Let. Me…"

"Aggh! Ow! Seriously? Son of a-"

"Honestly, you'd think you were a child rather than a Seeker of Truth. It was just a dislocated shoulder."

"Just a dislocated shoulder, you say? Do you go around popping joints out of place often?"

"Actually," another voice chimed in, much nearer, "if you haven't noticed, Hawke is more reckless than most. Trust me when I say she's broken her fair share of bones, let alone move them out of place."

Evelyn opened her eyes with a groan, immediately bringing her hand up to rub away the sudden overstimulation of light to her field of vision.

"Why is everything green?"

"Good morning, Sunshine. You look as bad as I feel."

She blinked again, seeing Varric now sitting at her side while Peter and Hawke pecked around each other like a pair of cross hens in the barnyard. Feeling no immediate injuries other than the dull ache behind her eyes, Evelyn sat up and took in her surroundings.

Varric, her brother, Hawke and Stroud were all within sight, the Warden keeping to himself at the fringes of their little group.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"This is the Fade."

Evelyn turned quickly to find Solas crouched down on her other side. She hadn't even realized he was there. Silently, the elf pointed, drawing her gaze to the stormy sky to a great black silhouette in the distance among the myriad of broken rocks and ruined monuments that floated listlessly about above them. The shape resembled that of the ruined tower of Kinloch Hold that she'd passed with Cullen when she'd first come to the Inquisition. When she looked upon it, she felt a sense of unease. This place was not right.

"The Black City," he spoke again. "I never thought I would see this place physically, but when we fell from the tower, you opened and rift and we landed here."

She frowned, the motion feeling all at once familiar and foreign to her. She recalled the expression, but it felt as if her muscles had been frozen in their mask of placidity for far too long. Was she still Tranquil, she wondered? Feelings and expressions were returned to her, yes, but their presence was more alarming than comforting; more strange than intimate. It felt as if there was a heaviness about her heart and mind that she could not shake - like she was being suffocated slowly with a down comforter.

Standing, Evelyn brushed the dirt from her robes and caught her brother's eye. Peter was holding a hand firmly over his bicep, nursing the shoulder Hawke had reset.

"Are you alright, Evie?" he asked.

She shook her head in the negative before halting mid-motion before slowly replying. "Yes. I..feel-" She frowned again. "I just feel, but it's not like before."

"We are in the Fade, and you've had emotional reactions to rifts after you'd been made Tranquil. It stands to reason that physically being here might have a similar effect," Solas offered.

She nodded, though not necessarily comfortable with the notion. She remembered that episode near the rift on their way back from the Dales. Her reaction was raw, she was hurting, and she swore she could still feel Teague's boot crushing her spine just before he beheaded her.

Evelyn shivered at the memory. No. This was much different than that - but why?

"I can see a rift from here," Stroud finally spoke up from where he had perched himself atop a rather large boulder. "Do you think we could get out that way - the same way we got in?"

Evelyn and Solas shared a glance before Evelyn spoke. "It's certainly worth a try." Her eyes made another sweep of the area, spotting a few dark shapes moving sluggishly in the mists beyond them. "And it's definitely better than waiting around here to be discovered by a demon."

They had walked a fair distance in relative silence when Evelyn fell back to her brother, who was still gingerly holding his arm. He'd never been one to exaggerate his injuries, but this one in particular seemed to cause him more than a little discomfort.

"Are you certain it's not broken?" she asked, watching as the tightness in his expression faded when he looked at her.

"No, I'm not certain, though I wouldn't be surprised. I've probably done  _something_  to deserve it, anyway."

Evelyn's lips twitched at his attempt at humor, knowing full well it was only a ruse to distract himself, and her, from the pain he was in.

"I would offer to heal it, but-" she trailed off, attention held by something just over his shoulder. When he looked back himself, he could see nothing but the waste of barren rock and shallow, stagnant water.

"What is it?"

"I thought- No. That's impossible. Never mind." She shook her head, ignoring the curious look she got from Solas as they pressed onward.

Eventually their party met an incline on the rather ambiguous path they followed, blessedly relieving them of the uncomfortable task of sloshing through frigid, ankle-deep water and delivering them onto dry land. They rounded a corner, Hawke making mention of Clarel's duplicity despite her apparent regret at the end.

"What a way to die," she'd scoffed. "You throw the whole world into chaos because you hear a bloody song in your head and then you get eaten by a dragon, leaving the rest of us to fix the problem. If I wasn't a mage myself, I'd have half a mind - ooho-holy shit, demon!"

Hawke's staff was out in a defensive position without a moment's hesitation, and despite not being able to feel her magic, Evelyn could tell that it practically burned in the air around her. Varric readied Bianca as well, but Solas placed a hand on the end of the crossbow, an action that earned a scowl from the dwarf before he yanked his precious girl from the elf's grip.

"That's not a demon!" Solas said quickly, hoping to stop Hawke before she set the thing on fire. Luckily for both him and the spirit, Hawke hesitated, which gave the spirit just enough time to address them.

Evelyn shared Solas' opinion that this was not a demon, at least as far as she could tell. The spirit held itself upright with a noble mien and an air of authority. It was a very human posture for the body that was aglow with warm, soothing light. While it wore human skin, likely in an effort to not make the mortals nervous, everyone could clearly tell that it was  _not_  a living creature.

It also looked a great deal like the late Divine.

"I greet you Warden," she said, Orlesian accent thicker than even the Queen's, "and you, Champion."

Hawke scoffed, not one to take anything at face value, even the pleasantries of a seemingly harmless spirit masquerading as an old woman. Not that Hawke would have had anything nice to say to the real Divine, anyway. The woman had neglected the situation in Kirkwall to the detriment of all of its inhabitants, and Hawke had to clean up the mess, pick up the pieces, and put down the people that should have been Justinia's responsibility. Truly, Hawke had shed no tears learning of her demise.

The spirit's wizened eyes moved over them all, lingering on Evelyn silently a moment before moving to Peter. "Ah, and here is Peter Trevelyan." Her smile held warmth, an affection for the young Seeker Evelyn was surprised to see. She had never heard of her brother having any kind contact with the Divine. "I trust that what we discussed has been completed with little trouble?"

Peter was so shocked by the Divine's visage before him, that he had been grasping for something to say. Fortunately, it was easy to fall back into the groove of his ingrained deference to the head of the Chantry. "It has, Your Grace. All of the willing mages I have found have have gained refuge. The Templars did not make it easy."

Peter was  _very_  aware of the eyes of his companions on him, especially Hawke's. If he could liken this feeling to anything, he supposed it might have been how he felt that time Edward had stolen his clothes from the baths at the White Spire, forcing him to return to his rooms at the other end of the fortress stark naked.

"I do not suppose they did," the Divine spoke with a small frown.

Hawke resembled Cassandra for a moment when she made another disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "So what are you? A spirit? A demon? There's no way anything left of the real Divine survived Haven."

The Divine's smile didn't waver. "Is it so impossible to imagine? Here you stand in the Fade, and yet you are not dead, but that is not why I'm here. That's not why I have revealed myself to you."

Her gaze was suddenly pinned to Evelyn, the force of it making the Inquisitor feeling smaller than she ever had since she took up that title.

"You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, do you?" the Divine spoke quietly.

Evelyn shook her head. "No. I only know what people have told me."

She nodded in acceptance of this. "You do not remember because of the demon that serves Corypheus. It dwells here, feeding on your fears and terrorizing you in your waking hours. It's had a taste of you before, and has sought to cripple you with fear," she paused, seeming to find something worth approval in Evelyn's countenance, "but it has been unsuccessful. It has eaten away at your family. Michael, the poor boy, was afraid of failing his family, Aaron was made to fear you. You lost them both, and still you persevere."

Evelyn's heart squeezed at the mention of her brothers. Though having a demon set its sights on her should have been a cause for concern, she was relieved that perhaps Aaron hadn't become all bad. She would never forgive him for his actions, no, but she could at least attempt to understand his motives. That was a matter for another time, however.

"The false Calling leading the Wardens to make such terrible mistakes?" the Divine continued, "That is the demon's work."

"I will avenge this insult against my brethren," Stroud growled. "It will not get away with misleading us so easily."

"You will have your chance, Warden. It knows you are here."

"It is nearby?" Evelyn asked.

"Yes."

"Well, shit," Varric piped up from beside Hawke. "Just our luck."

Again, the spirit's eyes found Evelyn. "When you were here before, after the explosion and with the Templars, the demon took parts of you. You must recover them."

"Would this mean curing her of being Tranquil?" Peter asked, a hopeful quality to his voice.

"Yes. This would restore her emotions and her magic." She spoke to all of them now. "There are lesser demons about that have taken these pieces of magic for themselves, and you must kill them to retrieve what was lost. There is one, however, like me, who has been safeguarding as many as it can manage. It rests just beyond us. When you have found yourself again, Inquisitor, I will return and assist you in defeating this nightmare and leaving this place."

With that tantalizing bit of information, the spirit shed the image of the Divine like a snake might shed its skin, and dissipated in hundreds of little motes of light to leave the party both confused and hopeful.

"We can't trust it," Hawke said immediately.

"Do we have a choice?" Varric asked. "If this is our ticket out of here, maybe we should listen to it."

"I trust the spirit's words," Solas said firmly. He had been quietly listening all the while. "It was not attempting to deceive us."

"I agree with Solas," Peter said carefully, mindful of Hawke's opinion. "I can't be absolutely certain, but it really did seem like her."

"Demons can seem like a lot of things," Hawke growled, "Especially things you want or desire."

Peter snorted. "Well, if that's the case, surely it would not have chosen the form of my former  _employer_  to tempt me." He deliberately raked his eyes over her, while Varric let out an exasperated sigh.

"Get a room, you two."

The bickering faded into the background as Evelyn caught sight of what had captured her attention while she was speaking to Peter. The form was similar, features as well, but she couldn't be certain. The slight shape of a being, made of more mist than anything substantial, darted around a boulder when it realized she had seen it, and she was compelled to follow.

Stroud, having no desire to subject himself to a lover's quarrel, followed the Inquisitor,sword gripped loosely in his hand, but at the ready should they encounter any nefarious beings.

"What did you see?"

It took her a moment to reply, turning another blind corner. "My brother."

"Peter?"

Evelyn shook her head. "No. I had a twin once. He died during his Harrowing."

Stroud didn't know too much about demons, but her admission made him a little uneasy. "If you think you saw your brother, and he failed his Harrowing, wouldn't something wearing his likeness be a demon?"

"Possibly, but many spirits have come to me in his image. I sense that this is different."

Another corner, and the pair arrived in a small space, clear of any erratic boulders, though stony walls surrounded them on all sides.

No one was here. She had been so certain…

"Evie?"

She spun around, hearing the voice echoing off of the walls, but seeing nothing.

"Show yourself. I don't appreciate being toyed with," Evelyn spoke firmly, backing slowly toward the center of the clearing where she had more room to run if need be. Stroud mirrored her movements, though not out of the desire to take any direction from her. The man knew what he was doing well enough that such basic survival tactics came to him naturally.

"Oh, right. Sorry." There was a pause. "Give me a moment, will you? I don't do this very often."

She frowned at the tone. It certainly sounded like Evan, even the awkward hesitancy. Perhaps there was something to what Stroud had said, and yet this feeling…

She stumbled as her heel made contact with something hidden in the mists at her feet, and she came down hard on her hands and knees. Shaking herself, her eyes opened, and she was met with dead, sightless eyes the same shade of blue as her own. She scrambled away, Stroud lifting her up off the ground by one arm as they stared at what lay before them.

Evelyn's body, or, err, spirit body, she thought, was broken into several pieces that rest on the ground. They were arranged in such a fashion that it seemed whatever had gathered them into this place, did so with the intention of gathering more. It had organized the parts with the head at the top, one arm in the proper place while another was missing. Her torso had been divided into three parts, she noted with a small lurch in her stomach.

"What have you been doing?" She found her voice, finally able to ask. "Why is this here?"

"I felt what happened to you. I felt your power. It called to me through the Fade." Just as the image of Justinia had left them before, a being materialized in the same manner wearing the exact likeness of her dead brother Evan.

Evelyn though she was going to be sick.

"You. You called me to you as you died and I came, but you were like this." He gestured to the body parts on the ground, his sheepish fifteen-year-old expression showing that he wasn't quite sure what to make of her.

That was entirely mutual.

"You're not Evan," She said quickly, needing to put down the nostalgic feelings of joy she felt for her twin. It was always this way when she saw his face again. She had loved her brother more than anyone else in the world.

"Yes and no. I am, in the way that I hold his essence, but I'm not in that I am also...other." He scuffed his foot on the ground, hands clasped behind his back. "When people die, their spirits enter the Fade. Sometimes they get stuck, you see, and other spirits come along. Eventually their essences just sort of come together to make one spirit. Those are the ones with names. You know, Valor, Hope, and Honor?"

"Yes," she said carefully, sharing a look with Stroud, " I know those names. I've met those spirits. Do you? Have a name, I mean."

He shook his head. "No. I'm not like them yet. I don't think I ever will be, either."

"Why not?" She stepped a bit closer to it, more comfortable than most in dealing with the Fade and its inhabitants.

"Your brother, me. When I came here, I carried something else with me. It doesn't have a name, either, and it has a terrible sense of humor."

The demon that had tempted Evan, she thought, though she couldn't be certain. Her brother had been possessed, that much was certain. Her father would have  _never_ killed his son, otherwise.

"A terrible sense of humor?"

"Lewd jokes, mostly. It's not very nice."

"I wouldn't expect a demon to be, I suppose," she replied, then nodded at the macabre display beside them. "What is this?"

"Your other self. Your magic, and the part of you that lives in the Fade. It holds your memories the nightmare has locked away, too."

"So, how do I get get my magic back?"

Her breathing quickened at the thought. Her magic. She would feel whole again. The promise of such a feeling made her reckless, but she reflected that her current lot could not get much worse. What did a Tranquil have to lose, anyway?

"Just pick it up," he said, as if she'd asked the dumbest question in the world.

"Inquisitor…" she heard Stroud's uneasy call, but ignored it as she knelt down and lifted her torso into her hands.

She felt like she'd been punched in the stomach - not that she'd ever been punched in the stomach, but she imagined it would feel much like this if she had been. Doubled over, the gore she'd held vanished from her hands and her sight as she gasped for air.

She felt it in her hands first. It was like getting back circulation after sitting on one's legs for too long or sleeping wrong on one's arm. The subtle prickly ache in her limbs intensified as she picked up another piece, and then another, until all traces of her "other body" had vanished. When the strange sensations faded, she stood up and breathed deeply, the hum of magic finally coursing through her body once again. It had been far, far too long.

With a smile, brilliant as any she had ever bestowed upon anyone, she turned to the spirit and thanked him.

"You've restored a part of myself I never thought I would get back. I am in your debt, spirit." Spirit? Was it really such with a demon hanging about inside of its head? She wasn't sure, but she was very aware that she needed to repay this kindness somehow.

"Well," it began, scuffing its foot again, "I would like to see home again."

"Home? Where is that?"

"I only remember a manor, with horses, and you. There were others, right?"

It wanted to go home.

She could do that - would do that.

She understood as well as anyone the desire to simply return to a familiar place, where one no longer had to shoulder the burdens of the world. Home, what she now considered her home, was surely beside himself waiting for her to return.

She couldn't waste any more time.

"Yes, I'll take you home. I'll tell you all about the others, but first I have to get us out of here."

Such a hopeful expression melted into one of joy. "Really? You'll take me?"

She nodded.

"Well, let's go! I can show you where the nightmare lives. He doesn't get out much."

When Evelyn, Stroud, and their new companion returned to the others, they also returned to Peter's thunderous expression.

"Where, literally in the  _Fade_ , have you two been?"

Evelyn grinned broadly, throwing him for a loop. "Doing what the spirit of the Divine told us to, apparently." She held up a hand, and wiggled her fingers, a small spark of magic appearing between them. "See?"

"How'd you manage that?" He queried, running a finger down the center of her palm to feel it for himself.

She nodded toward the spirit that helped her, noting at first the looks of shock, horror, and then poorly veiled curiosity that passed over Peter's face. He looked at her, then the spirit, his mind clearly working hard to make sense of it.

"Evan?"

"Yes, and no," the spirit said again, a little bashful beneath Peter's scrutiny.

"I can explain once we're out of here, but he's coming with us."

Her brother balked. "What? Evelyn, we can't bring a spirit out of the Fade."

"Why not? It isn't like we're summoning a demon."

Solas approached them both. "Peter is correct, Inquisitor. Bringing the spirit into our world, should we leave this place, would disrupt its natural state."

"But I want to come. I want to go home," the spirit said, appearing confused.

"You are home," Solas replied.

It shook its head. "No. No. Not anymore."

Evelyn sighed. "This isn't up for discussion. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."

Hawke looked none too pleased, but the others, including Peter, appeared resigned.

"Well then," Stroud finally spoke, "let's go pick up those memories of yours, find the Divine, and show that demon the mistake it has made by tormenting the Wardens."

Evelyn healed Peter's arm before they set out, and she discovered he'd not simply dislocated the limb, but broken his shoulder outright. He had said it was from trying to keep Hawke in one piece as they fell into the Fade, but the Champion was quick to say that she didn't need stubborn rogues to act as pillow cushions to save her skin.

Evelyn wished they would just just release all of that tension between them already. Everyone could see it. Maker, was this like how it was between her and Cullen during their spats? It was a wonder someone hadn't knocked their heads together sooner.

After ensuring that Peter could still work a bow, they set out to gather what was left of Evelyn's memories from the demons. It took little time in finding them, as their guide, the spirit running around with Evan's visage, could sense the pieces of memory she'd lost. When they did find them and removed the demons guarding those memories, she took them into herself in much the same way as she had her magic. Slowly, the events leading up to the explosion at the Temple began to make more sense.

"So there were Wardens there? Working for Corypheus?" Stroud spoke, sounding as disbelieving as Evelyn felt. Warden's were supposed to be heroes, after all.

"I suspect this was after they began to hear the false Calling, but yes. The Warden mages were holding the Divine while Corypheus tried to do something with an orb. I...interrupted."

"Sounds like you," Peter teased, much more at ease now with a weapon in his hand.

Evelyn wrinkled her nose at him. "Anyway, picking that orb up is how I got the mark."

The realm of nightmares was as dreadful as expected. It was full of things they didn't like, mostly demons, trying to kill them while all they wanted to do was leave. At some point, the Nightmare master of the world, began to taunt them, speak to them of the things they most feared, of the criticisms they placed upon themselves. Thankfully, none of their party was particularly interested in what it had to say.

As they neared what Evan said was the beast's lair, they again met with the spirit of the Divine. "I see you have made it this far. The demon lies just ahead."

Evelyn approached her, unsure of what to say - how to thank her.

"It was you. I know that now. You saved me from this demon the first time...at the expense of your own life. I-"

"Say no more. I know what I have done, and what it has meant to Thedas. For now, we must get you to the rift."

The spirit began to move ahead through a large tunnel, leading them through a slog of lesser demons as they came closer and closer to the demon. He was becoming agitated by the spirit's presence as well, his insults coming with much less pomp and flair than they had initially. Strange, Evelyn thought, that even Nightmares could fear.

"Do we just walk through? Doesn't that seem a little easy?" Varric asked, keeping pace beside Solas and Evelyn as they ran forward.

"Yes! Run through, and then the Inquisitor must close the rift. Slam it shut with all of your might. That will banish the demon army, and throw this creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade," the spirit of the Divine clarified.

"The rift!" Hawke breathed as they came to a clearing, passing out from beneath the stone tunnel. "We're almost there!"

"Aww, Hawke. Why'd you have to say it like that? Why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you?"

"What in the Void is that thing?" Peter asked, drawing everyone's attention to the massive spider-like creature lumbering about the rift.

"That is the demon," said the Divine.

"Well," he snorted, sounding a bit put out, "It's certainly not itsy bitsy."

True, Evelyn had mistaken the huge beast for some kind of mountain before Peter's keen eyes had exposed it.

"Is there a big enough water spout around here?" Hawke sounded almost half-serious, as if she were actually considering looking for a hole large enough to wash the giant spider down a drain, in effort to simply not deal with it.

"Looks like we're shit out of luck, Hawke," Varric said, readjusting Bianca in his grip. "We ready to go piss it off?"

The spirit of the Divine made that decision for them, moving out into the open and capturing the nightmare's attention while the remainder of their party made a beeline for the rift. They were thwarted by a much smaller creature, another demon with a spider-like head and a human body. It hissed at them, swiping out at Peter with bony fingers as the rogue knocked the limb away with his bow before stepping backward.

"I'm really not into demons!" he called, stepping back again while Hawke shot a bolt of lightening at the thing.

It turned on her, attention now divided between the two.

"Evelyn!" Peter's voice was raised as the fighting resumed, Stroud now jumping in to give Hawke a bit more mobility on the field. "Go! get through the rift!"

What? Without them? Absolutely not!

"Fat chance, brother, I'm staying here until we win this!"

Peter fired an arrow at the creature, suddenly running up beside his sister, taking her arm, and dragging her toward the rift. "You need to get out. If you die here, then there's no way of closing this rift and Corypheus wins."

"But-"

"No buts! This is bigger than us, alright?"

He practically dragged her toward the sickly green glow of the rift, nodding to Varric and Solas at the pair passed through the portal.

"Evelyn, I'm serious."

"So am I! I don't want to lose another brother!" The tears in her eyes were genuine, and they might have swayed him were this anything other than a life threatening, world-altering situation.

Unwilling to stand and argue with her, he simply pushed her through the rift, while Evan, the spirit she had promised to take into their world, followed close behind her.

Peter turned back to the fight, hurrying to Stroud and Hawke, who were both harrying the lesser demon in alternating turns. He fired another arrow, catching the beast in the neck, stunning it for a moment.

"Come on! Let's go!" He bellowed.

His companions rushed forward, keen on getting to the rift when the nightmare creature returned, slamming one of its giant insect-like legs down in front of them.

"Go, I'll cover you," Hawke said immediately, and Peter thought he felt his heart come to a screeching halt.

"No. The Warden's caused this," Stroud said simply. "A Warden must atone for their mistakes."

"Bullshit! A Warden must help the order rebuild! I have no family. I am the best choice. Corypheus is my responsibility."

Peter sighed through his nose, his mind made up. "If you're staying," he spoke to Hawke, holding her gaze, "then I'm staying too."

Hawke's look of surprise might have offended him if he didn't know of her annoying self-depreciating tendencies.

"Peter, no. Evelyn needs you."

"Evelyn has Cullen. If you're going to stay here, then  _you_  need me."

"And you  _both_  can stop arguing, because I am staying. Hawke, Peter, it has been an honor knowing you."

Without giving the pair further chance to argue or dispute Stroud's claim to responsibility, the Warden gave a cry and rushed the beast, cutting away at it until it stumbled backward, leaving the way to the rift clear.

Both Peter and Hawke hesitated a moment before they both fled, rushing through the rift while trying not to think of the good man they were leaving behind.

* * *

Evelyn tried to go back for a time, sure that she could somehow make it back to her brother - to save him. If she lost him too…

She didn't want to think about it.

"This way," the spirit, Evan, said quietly, sensing her fear and desperation. "There's only one way out now."

Resigned, and realizing all she was doing was stumbling aimlessly around in a place where all she could see was mist before her, she followed when it moved away from her. This was the Veil, she reflected. The space between her world and the Fade. She'd no way of knowing which way was which, but she suspected that as a spirit, Evan knew precisely which direction her world was in.

"Keep walking like this," he said. "I know that your world doesn't understand beings like me. Do you think it would be wise if I laid low for a while?"

"In what manner?" she asked, rousing herself from her worry over Peter.

"You have the Phylactery?" he inquired.

She nodded, pulling the metal pendant with the small vial of blood underneath it out from her robes.

"I can rest there. You won't even know it's me there unless I speak. That way, I can get used to things before people see me. I want them to understand."

"I don't think they'll even be able to see you…" she frowned. "What should I call you? As you said, you're not my brother."

He shrugged, cocking his head in thought. "I would like to be a friend. What do you call friends?"

Evelyn, perhaps the world's worst namer, chuckled. "How about I just call you Friend, then? Does that sound alright?"

He nodded, looking pleased. "That's a great name."

Friend had done as he said he would, concealing his presence shortly before Evelyn stumbled out of the rift, an arm blocking her eyes from the intense light of the setting sun. Before she even knew where she was, she was swept up into a crushing hug, Cassandra's voice clear in her ears.

"Thank the Maker! I thought you had been lost."

Evelyn blinked, still a bit dazed as Cassandra held her at arm's length, looking her over for any injury. Despite a bit of demon gore and the singed hem of her robes, Evelyn was perfectly unharmed.

"Has Peter come out?"

"No," Cassandra frowned. "You sound worried."

Evelyn nodded, not thinking that it might have been strange to the others to see her so thoroughly renewed after her bout as a Tranquil. "I am. He and Hawke stayed behind with Stroud. I was wondering-"

She heard the telltale sizzle and crack of something making its way through the rift, and as if in answer to her question, Peter and the Champion were deposited in an unceremonious heap on the ground.

"Close it!" Peter called to Evelyn, rolling to his feet.

Evelyn nodded, thrusting out her marked palm and focusing on the rift. It took a lot of energy to close the rift, more than any before it, more than even the Breech, but as she stood with her teeth clenched and sweat beading on her forehead, she slammed the portal closed to the cheers of Wardens and Inquisition soldiers alike. Breathing hard, she stumbled over to her brother, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Don't you ever," she breathed, hugging him extra hard for emphasis, "scare me like that again."

He chuckled, returning her affection in kind before pulling away.

"You know, Evie, I believe there is someone who has missed you an awful lot. Just over there, in fact."

She turned, momentarily confused by his meaning before her eyes met Cullen's at the opposite end of the courtyard. His expression was disbelieving at first, but the surprise quickly gave way to relief. His face was smudged with dirt and blood as surely as hers was, but it didn't alter him one bit. In fact, he looked more handsome now than she'd ever seen him.

Slowly, trying desperately not to run to him and fling herself into his arms, Evelyn approached her Commander and smiled, really smiled, up at him.

All traces of Tranquility were gone.

"I'm sorry if I worried you."

Cullen dropped his sword an instant before pulling her into his arms and burying his nose in her hair.

"Maker, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

His affections were muted, uttered into her ear in such quiet desperation that she felt tears begin to prick the corners of her eyes.

She wrapped her arms tightly about his waist and sank further into his embrace. "I love you too."

It was the first time either of them had said such sentiments to one another. They had never thought they needed to before, but with the notion that either of them could be taken away at a moment's notice, they realized there was no better time to put their feelings to words. There could be no doubt now, if there was any before, that the Inquisitor and her Commander were helplessly, utterly in love with one another.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for all of the wonderful comments I've been getting! Your kind words really do inspire me to keep this going. <3

They arrived at Griffon Wing Keep in a cloud of dust as their battle-worn and sleep-deprived numbers struggled to close the distance between themselves, a hot meal, and a warm bed. The rift had been closed, the Wardens placated, and Evelyn had been restored. All in all, Cullen thought as he cast an eye about the moonlit battlements, things could have gone markedly worse. Evelyn  _could_ have remained Tranquil, more horrible yet, she  _could_ have died in the Fade. Here she was, though, he thought as he chanced a glance back at her. She was healthy, whole, and remarkably restored. Had he been able, he would have kissed the Maker himself for such a blessing.

The Inquisition had lost many good soldiers in the assault at Adamant, and plenty more along the way from their wounds and other complications. As it was, the fight was decisive and the Wardens had yielded to the Inquisition - or the Inquisitor, which was probably more likely.

His eyes drifted back over his shoulder to Evelyn, who sat with perfectly rigid posture atop her mare while she rode silently next to Cassandra. If one didn't know her as well as he did, they probably would not have noticed the tightness about her eyes, the firm set of her jaw or - Cullen shifted in his saddle, catching her eye and motioning her to come ride beside him - that her magic was fluctuating wildly about her. He'd noticed the moment she'd stepped out of that rift that something was not right, but it was only after a few hours in the saddle that he'd begun to feel her slip. There was a distinct ebb and flow of energy around her like that of waves lapping ashore, if a bit more erratic. It was unusual for her, to say the least, especially since she herself had been the one to illustrate the control over her abilities she considered so paramount.

When she drew near he tugged one of his gauntlets off with his teeth, ignoring the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, and reached out to take her hand in his.

"Are you alright?" he asked, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles.

She hesitated a moment, gauging whether or not worrying him with an honest answer was worth it. "No," she breathed. "I- Everything feels more difficult."

"Controlling your magic?"

As if on cue, a tendril of her unique power sparked between them, sending a shiver up his spine.

"Yes," she frowned to herself, "it's not responding to me the way it did before, though I'm unsure exactly why. The nature of it feels the same, but…" Evelyn trailed off, unsure of how to describe the new sensation.

The sight of her frown felt like a bolt of joy had been shot through his chest. Though she had only been Tranquil a short time, he still could not suppress the excitement of her being not only physically returned to him, but emotionally as well. He'd thought the condition permanent, after all, and had resigned himself, kicking and screaming all the way, to the inevitability that his dalliance with Evelyn had been cut horribly short. No, he thought, dalliance was too weak a word and not nearly serious enough for what he felt for her. He'd cared for her so strongly that he'd asked her father permission to court her, and even though he couldn't find the words to describe his feelings, it was undeniably and unequivocally a form love. Though even as he thought it, the word  _love_  seemed inadequate as well.

But Maker, did he ever love her.

Cullen glanced over at her, still waiting for her to finish her thought.

"Oh, that's probably my fault! Sorry!"

Cullen startled, looking around for the owner of the voice he didn't recognize. Slowly, almost tentatively, he felt another source of magical power ignite, but this brand he recognized and understood without a single doubt.

Demon.

"I wasn't really sure how things would go once I got out of the Fade, you see. There are all sorts of stories. I met a Sloth demon once who swore up and down that he was really a Pride demon born in a Sloth demon's body, and that it was only after he was summoned by a mage and introduced to this world that he really started to identify as-"

Evelyn grimaced at the spirit's rambling, knowing full well that Cullen was going to blow his lid over this. Here she had been hoping to warm him up to Friend in the way he'd begun to tolerate Cole.

Cullen dropped Evelyn's hand and reached for his sword, when she placed a hand on his vambrace to still him.

"He's not dangerous, I promise!" she said, feeling terrible at the look of panic that flashed in his eyes.

" _He?_ " Cullen's eyes snapped fire at her, and before Evelyn could respond, Friend had filled in the silence once more.

"Ooooh, big scary Templar. What's your problem, hmmm? Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions, quick draw?"

Cullen sputtered. "What's my  _problem?_ "

Evelyn's brows furrowed, her lips thinning in a stern expression. "Stop baiting. This is  _not_  how you get people to like you."

"Who says I want him to like me?" Friend grumbled, but the mark of demonic energy faded somewhat at the reprimand. "He was going to try and kill me without even saying hello first. Talk about rude…"

There was no hope for it now, Evelyn sighed, figuring it was better to come clean and get it over with. Trying to find a way to explain all of this to Cullen while preventing bloodshed was going to be difficult.

"I found him in the Fade," she started lamely.

"Yes, I figured that much," Cullen interrupted, not missing the little flash of annoyance that brightened her eyes.

" _As I was saying,_ " she stressed, "I found him when we went through the rift at Adamant. You read Peter's official report, I assume - the one about the spirit of the Divine?"

"Yes," he replied hesitantly. Initially he's found such an account too fantastical to place any credence in it but for three reasons. First, he trusted Peter, and knew he wasn't a man easily taken by fanciful notions. Second, he trusted Evelyn explicitly, though this business with the demon set his teeth on edge. Certainly, she was the only woman - or being - alive in Thedas who could stay his sword arm in the presence of a denizen of the Fade. He had trusted her with his life before, and she had proven herself sound of mind and worthy of his confidence. Last, but certainly not least, he had come to realize in his time with the Inquisition that he knew very little about the Fade. Templars knew all there was to know about  _killing_  demons, but the Chantry was little concerned with the lives of spirits and demons. What they got up to when they weren't trying to take over the numbered faithful was of no concern to the sisters and brothers chanting benedictions each morning.

She'd turned her horse about now, angling to face him and take up less room beneath the gate to the keep as they spoke. "I believe he is like her. When I entered the Fade, I was still Tranquil, you see. The spirit of the Divine - whatever the technical name for such a being might be - told me that before I could leave, I had to regain pieces of my myself from the Fear demon. He," she gestured to her brother's phylactery that hung ever present about her neck, "got my attention and lead me to most of the pieces. He'd been...ah...collecting them for me."

Cullen nearly winced. "Let me guess, he asked for you to bring him here in return?"

She nodded, realizing how dangerous their bargain sounded. "Yes, but only after I had taken back my magic. Cullen, he's my brother - some part of him anyway. He said up front that there was some kind of demon he'd taken in, but-"

"Can I interrupt?" the disembodied voice jumped in again, drawing a loud sigh from Evelyn.

"You already are. What is it?"

"To explain, because you're awful at it. I am  _not_  Evelyn's brother," it said, holding Cullen's attention. "When people die, they pass through the Veil and enter the Fade. Some souls linger and disperse, their essences floating about until they find a strong spirit. That's what happened in my case, and that of others like me. I take on Evan's visage because his is the most recent being that found me, he and the demon both, actually. In short: things die, their souls break apart, are sometimes attracted to strong spirits, then become part of that spirit, and then you have more spirits. That's not everyone, though. Some people skip past the Fade, but no one I've spoken to really knows where  _they_  go."

Cullen looked dubious, his eyes meeting Evelyn's during the explanation. "You let this thing out as a favor, in return for its help?"

She nodded, searching his eyes. Surprisingly, she didn't find anger, but a wary sort of resignation in his countenance that both worried and relieved her. She worried because it was not in his nature to simply accept this situation for what it was. She was relieved, because she honestly didn't have the wherewithal to argue on the matter. She stank, she was hungry, and she just wanted to sleep.

"It's  _your_  responsibility, then. If anything goes wrong, I trust you'll take care of it."

"Of course, Cullen. I accept that. I would never intentionally endanger the Inquisition."

He sighed. "I know." Then, waving a hand as if to brush the matter aside for the moment, he said, "Let's go get something to eat."

* * *

Evelyn hadn't given much thought to sleeping with her brother's phylactery, possessed as it was with a spirit or demon, or whatever Friend really was. She would confer with Dorian and Solas back at Skyhold. For now, she placed the item in the care of one who would know precisely how to subdue an obnoxious Fade creature.

"Cole? Do you have a moment? I would ask a favor."

The boy turned, blinking owlishly from beneath his wide-brimmed hat as he sat on top of a barrel at the far reaches of the nearby torch-light. "He is  _loud._ "

She smiled tiredly, nodding as she lifted the phylactery over her head and handed the silver chain to the boy. "He is. Would you mind keeping an eye on him for me? He's new here, and I desperately need to sleep."

Cole nodded, turning the medallion housing the phylactery around between his fingers a moment before inclining his head to Evelyn.

"You should go to him," he said, and she knew Cole wasn't talking about Friend. "He's been hurting, and I cannot help. Not like you."

"I'll do my best. He's not entirely happy with me at the moment."

"Not true. Not true. He's  _very_  happy with you. He is very bright when he looks at you. Blinding, like the sun."

She laughed quietly, drawing her cloak about her. "Thank you, Cole."

"No confidence booster quite like a spirit of compassion, is there?"

Evelyn turned toward the voice, smiling when she was Hawke.

"Spirits are just like us, but yes, it is nice that Cole is naturally empathetic."

"It'll take me a while to see that they're 'just like us', but I take your meaning." Hawke eyed Cole warily, and he observed her in turn, both not quite knowing what to make of one another. "You wouldn't have happened to see your brother pass by?"

Evelyn hid a knowing smile behind her cloak and nodded. "He'll likely be in the highest part of the keep. Whenever he runs away, look up first."

Hawke snorted self-deprecatively. "He's not the one running." She turned and made for the scaffold that ran along the abyssal side of the keep, knowing now that Peter would have been in the only remaining watchtower Griffon Wing possessed.

Huffing for breath like she'd never worked a day in her life, Hawke finally hauled herself up the last ladder to the tower platform to meet the raised eyebrow of a very amused-looking Peter Trevelyan.

"All that work just to get up here?" he asked cheerfully, giving her a hand up. "I'm surprised."

"Why's that?" she gasped, rubbing out her aching arms. Maker, she'd rather run drills with the Templars than climb up all of those ladders again. "Don't think I'm good for a climb?"

He pinned her with the most frank look he could muster. "You're afraid of heights."

"That was a one-time thing! If I had jumped, I would have broken my leg and you know it!"

He laughed, turning to lean against the railing, taking up the position he'd been in before he'd heard her making her way up to him. "The demon of nightmares thinks differently."

Hawke opened her mouth to argue further, but all of her hot air left her at the mention of the demon.

Peter had stayed behind with her, despite his obligations to his sister, his family, and the Divine. She hadn't wanted to think about it much since Adamant, but she couldn't deny the effect his near sacrifice had had on her. The fact of the matter was that at a critical time in her life, he'd remained. She could not name one moment where she had felt so, well, not alone. It was something she did not expect from a man like him, though she supposed that was unfair. Just because Carver had betrayed her trust and abandoned her for the Templars, and Fenris had just up a left after that night…

None of that had anything to do with Peter.

Carefully, Hawke stepped over to stand beside him, looking out over the fathoms-deep canyon as the pale moon hovered over the dunes.

"I wanted to thank you."

Peter started, looking over at her in surprise. "What for?"

She grumbled to herself, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "In the Fade. You could have left with Evelyn, but you came back. It meant a lot to me, you know."

"Of course I came back. If you'd died and taken all the glory - as you're wont to do, I might add - I'd be stuck with those bloody lovebirds down there."

She rolled her eyes and smiled, feeling a bit more comfortable with his usual levity. Peter, like Evelyn, could disarm an ogre with a sunny disposition.

"Getting stuck with Cullen and Evelyn aside, I still wanted to thank you. I didn't want to die alone."

Peter quieted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his hip bumping hers lightly, and not the least bit accidentally. "I wasn't going to let you, so don't think it's something I did only for you. I did it just as much for myself."

"I'm not sure Fenris would have come back."

"Then he was a fucking tool." The mere mention of the elf raised Peter's ire, and it was only when he spotted something in the distance that he broke the silence once again in an effort to bring the mood back to something more amenable. Awful puns were kind of his thing, after all, and he'd much rather see Marian laughing than looking far too serious for her own good.

Jerking his chin, he said, "See that out there? The group of wolves?"

She strained her eyes to see, not as used to the dark as his, but she managed to make out a pair of hairy beasts tearing at a carcass. There was a third a bit further off, but it seemed nervous about approaching the other two.

"See the one standing out there by itself? He came late to dinner, so it looks like the other two are giving him the  _cold_  shoulder."

Hawke dropped her head to her arms where they rest against the railing and snorted loudly. "That's a friggin  _terrible_  joke!"

He grinned. "It's not a joke. It's a pun. There's a difference, you heathen."

"Alright, give me another one. We'll see how civilized your puns are."

* * *

"I have no idea why I'm asking this, but why a nug skull?"

"Of all the people around to possess, you mean? Well, I had a feeling if I possessed a person, that'd give you an excuse to kill me. Close, but no cigar, Templar! Besides, people  _smell_."

Cullen rolled his eyes toward Evelyn, who only smiled at his exasperation with Friend's antics. After the spirit had figured out her particular attachment to the medallion he had been using as a "body" of sorts, he'd moved his essence to another vessel. This particular vessel happened to be the skull of one of the most abundant and least appreciated creatures in all of Thedas. Even the Darkspawn wouldn't take nugs.

"You could just tell him you don't want to possess people, Friend. It would sound a lot better." Evelyn smirked as she rummaged through her saddlebag to find a loose bit of cloth and a change of clothes she'd borrowed from Cassandra. Speaking of smelly people, she desperately needed to wash the demon gore off of her from her trip to the Fade. She was beginning to ripen with it, and now that the army had reached the Dales, they'd found a particularly nice location to camp with a particularly nice river in which to bathe.

"Maybe I want to keep him on his toes," Friend scoffed, though there was little venom in it. The last few days of travel had more or less assured Cullen that the largest threat the spirit posed was that of annoying them all to death. Still, he hadn't let down his guard around him, which was no surprise as Evelyn didn't think Cullen would ever be truly comfortable with any denizen of the Fade - good or bad.

"Why don't you go keep the others on their toes then. I'm sure the scouts would love the diversion." Evelyn smiled, turning on her heel and heading for a more secluded portion of the riverbank.

"Don't encourage him!" Cullen sighed, following close behind her.

Evelyn ignored that. "If you're going to bathe with me, you may want to bring a larger towel" She turned, snapping out her small cloth. "Mine is a bit too small for a man of your stature, Commander."

The flush that reached the tips of his ears warmed her, and in no time the pair found themselves stripping out of their battle-dirtied layers and jumping into the clear, if frigid, river.

"M-m-maker, it's cold!"

Cullen laughed, disappearing beneath the water and surfacing while running his fingers through his wet, riotous curls. "I believe this river is glacier fed. Wouldn't be surprised if we could trace its origin back to Skyhold."

Evelyn's teeth began to chatter loudly. "H-how are you n-not f-freezing?"

"A little cold water is nothing to a native Fereldan, my lady," Cullen smirked, but not before swimming over to her to wrap her in his arms.

Blessedly, Cullen radiated heat like a bonfire, and Evelyn sank thankfully into his embrace with a small sigh. "Well b-bully for native F-Fereldans."

One hand rubbed up and down her back. "Is it warm in Ostwick as it is in Kirkwall? I never traveled the Marches as long as I lived there."

"Warmer," She breathed, arms wrapping around him, "but the breeze from the ocean is stronger. Kirkwall is really humid, from what I remember."

Cullen chuckled. "It is. Wearing full plate was not the most comfortable I've ever been in my life."

She turned around in his embrace, her back to his chest, and handed him a small bundle of grasses. The grass, as she had told Cullen, was a variety of soaproot. When rubbed vigorously between the palms, the root would produce a foam suitable for washing hair, and so it was Cullen had found himself washing Evelyn's long hair in the freezing water of a river, and not minding in the least.

"Are you asleep?" he asked, fingers still running through her hair, though she'd rinsed it of the soaproot long ago.

Evelyn's eyes were closed as she leaned back into Cullen's touch. "Mmm? No. Thinking."

Cullen waited for her to continue, working out a small tangle.

"Do you regret taking Lyrium again?"

He paused, the question unexpected as it was confounding, if only because he didn't clearly know the answer himself. Still, his fingers resumed their journey through her wet tresses while he sought to organize a response.

"Yes," he said finally, "in that I honestly wish to be rid of it, but as for its role in allowing me to get to you? Never. I would never regret it. In fact, I would do it again. For you."

Evelyn straightened away, turning around so that she faced him. Searching his eyes, she locked her arms around his torso. "I should have listened to you."

He shook his head, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's in the past. It's done. I would prefer not to dwell on it."

"I'm sorry."

He tugged her toward him, nearly crushing her with the force of his embrace. "Don't be. It's over. You're here - with me, and you're safe." He pulled away, cupping her cheeks between his palms. "And you're you, thank the Maker. You have no idea how much I missed you."

"I was Tranquil, Cullen, not blind. I could see…" she cleared her throat. "Right. You're right. It's over.

Evelyn looked up at him then, her lips only a hair's breadth from his own. She could feel his breath fanning across her face before he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss so feather-light and gentle it nearly broke her heart.

However, the moment he kissed her again, this time more firmly, she could feel the careful mental ties she used to hold her magic back begin to unravel. He must have felt it too.

"Don't hide from me," he said between kisses that were steadily becoming more urgent - more persuasive. "I want all of you, and that includes your magic, your habit of talking to spirits, and bringing them home from the Fade."

Evelyn grinned against his lips, dropping her restraint like one would drop a venomous snake. "Watch every Templar come running now."

"Not if they know what's good for them," Cullen growled, as the sensation of her magic crackled across his senses. He didn't realize how much he had missed  _that_  part of her.

Inspired, Cullen trailed his kisses down from her lips and to her throat as his arms pinned her body to his.

A sigh left her lips and her magic stuttered a moment, giving him pause. That had certainly never happened before. When she made no mention of it, he continued his ministrations, one hand trailing over her hip to slip between them. When he drew a knuckle across her womanhood, he felt the flux of magic again, and this time it hit him with a force so powerful it sent his head spinning.

"Evelyn?" he breathed, holding her away to look at her. "Are you alright?"

She looked almost confused. "Yes, I'm fine. Are you? You look ill." She reached out, fingertips brushing his skin. He jumped at the contact, and she snatched her hand away.

"I won't hurt you," she said quietly, pressing the same fingers that touched him to her lips in an effort to still their trembling. Why was he looking at her like that? Was he frightened of her?

Cullen shook his head, taking a deep breath as he drew back from her, but not so far to indicate he desired to leave her. He'd never felt this around her before. Perhaps it was the lyrium. Did it sensitize him to her brand of magic?

"Cullen?" she asked when he didn't answer her right away.

"It's fine. Just- maybe we shouldn't right now."

Cullen wished more than anything to replace the hurt look on her face with something more worthy of her, but he had no idea what was causing those little spikes of magic to radiate from her body. What if they did still try to reestablish their intimacy and it happened again? Would he be so calm? No. He wouldn't risk the chance of possibly hurting her. While he'd made great strides in overcoming his mistrust of magic, he still had a long way to go. He felt pursuing this right now would be pushing himself too far, and he would rather fall on his own sword than injure her.

"Alright," Evelyn said quietly, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment as she folded her arms around herself.

That she was trying to hide from him when he'd just told her she should have no fear, well, it made him feel like an absolute ass.

A sort of awkwardness settled around them that hadn't existed before, even when they'd first met, and when Evelyn left the water to retrieve her clothing and head back to camp, Cullen simply averted his eyes and waited until she was gone, hating himself for his cowardice.

* * *

_-and I sincerely hope you've pulled that stick out of your ass since I last saw you in Kirkwall._

_King Alistair Theirin_

"Well, it seems the throne hasn't dulled the King's charm one whit," Cullen lamented at the war table while Leliana stifled another round of giggles at the King's informal sign off. Alistair Theirin and Cullen had apparently known each other for a short time during their Templar training - long enough, it seemed, for Alistair to become quite comfortable hassling Cullen much like one would a sibling.

"So he wishes to come to Skyhold and discuss a peace accord with Orlais? I agree that we are technically neutral territory, as far as the sovereigns are concerned," Josephine added, madly scribbling over her parchment.

"Sounds like he wants to visit first, and then discuss gathering a summit. I wonder if this isn't all a carefully crafted plan to escape the palace," Leliana mused.

Cullen nodded. "It wouldn't be the first time he tried to sneak away."

"Let's invite him, then," Evelyn spoke up with a smile. "You all make it sound like he needs a break, and the Inquisition is in prime position to facilitate these peace talks. We could at least entertain the idea, right?" She turned to Josephine who agreed with her on that point.

"It would do well for the Inquisition's reputation in Ferelden to receive a visit from the King, anyway. Now, Leliana, you traveled with him the longest. Do you know foods of which the King is particularly fond?

"Cheese."

Cullen and Leliana said in unison, one with a grin, and the other with a roll of his eyes.

"Cheese?" the Ambassador asked.

"Yes," Leliana replied.

"All we can spare," Cullen said, and Evelyn found herself very much intrigued by the prospect of meeting Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden.

Her eyes rose to where Cullen stood across the table from her, watching him converse with Leliana on the matter of their shared friend. She watched the faint movement of his adam's apple as he spoke beneath the shadow of stubble he'd neglected to shave that morning. The light from the stained glass windows behind his head cast his hair in a golden glow, and she wondered faintly if she was going mad.

Only a few days had passed since their aborted attempt at intimacy, and all the while Evelyn had floundered with Cullen's reason for keeping her at arm's length. Initially, in a moment borne of misplaced self-loathing, she had considered that perhaps something about her had changed physically. She'd made quite an idiot of herself, subtly trying to catch her reflection in the myriad of ponds they'd stopped by on their journey home. She'd seen nothing different, and it was with a great force of will and a stern talking to that she'd managed to convince herself that there was nothing altered of her appearance, and that she should have felt ashamed to consider such a fickle behavior from Cullen. Whatever his reasons were for stopping her, they must have merit. That, however, did not change the fact that she wanted him desperately.

If she had ever been inclined to give into temper, she would have picked up the heavy brass marker resting over Adamant Fortress and thrown it at his breastplate - if only to get his attention. That, of course, was extremely childish.

She felt restless, though, and as such she had taken to her inner circle looking for an outlet. Any outlet. Bull had tried to show her the Qunari method of dealing with stress, but she was not keen on allowing a man thrice her size take a stick the size of a small tree-trunk to her.

Solas had suggested meditation, but her mind wasn't calm enough for that. If she tried, her thoughts would drift immediately to the Commander who stood not an arm's length from her, seemingly entirely unaware of her inner turmoil.

Evelyn straightened her posture, pressing her legs together in an effort to stay her desire for him even now in this room full of people. Maker, perhaps she  _should_  throw that blasted marker at him.

It was not only her desire for Cullen that was troubling her, however. While that little problem was certainly at the top of her body's to-do list, she also struggled with managing her magic, keeping herself calm and in control. There was also the matter of all of the men who had died on her behalf when Cullen had laid siege to the Templar stronghold in effort to rescue her. She'd only just become aware of the numbers, overhearing a discussion in passing involving the need for more timber for the caskets. She'd felt immediately ill, and upset with herself that she hadn't given the soldiers' sacrifices the appropriate amount of respect and reflection that they deserved.

Maker, if she was a leader, she was a miserable sort. She needed to be more involved, to assure those who looked up to her that she knew of their sacrifices and loved them for it. She was often surprised that she was still so green on such matters, so unused to answering to so many people.

Evelyn exhaled loudly, bringing a hand up to rub at her eyes while Friend, still housed inside of the ridiculous nug skull, watched her knowingly.

Blessedly, he kept silent. Despite the rather odd circumstances of their meeting and their continued association, Evelyn found herself reliant on the spirit. He could be obnoxious, and downright rude, but he always had a kind word when it was deserved. Even Cullen was growing more accustomed to his irreverent sarcasm and penchant for baiting the Templars into losing their tempers on a nug skull, the sight of which was rather funny for all involved except the poor Templar who'd let his guard down.

Her father, well enough to get up on his feet and meander around the battlements, had even made comment on the spirit's good nature, if employed in an unusual manner. Friend, to Evelyn's surprise, had never spoke a word to the Lord Trevelyan, maintaining a sort of respectful silence in his presence. At first, she'd thought it was perhaps the part of Evan within him that perpetuated that quiet, differential attitude, but when she'd asked the spirit, he simply said "good man," and returned to his silence.

The war room had emptied since Evelyn had delved into her own thoughts, and she'd not noticed she'd taken to pacing. First, she'd merely walked the length of the war table, but as her reflection deepened, she'd taken up a pace reminiscent of an anxious delegate awaiting the outcome of a particularly important referendum.

Cullen could feel the energy crackling across his senses from where he stood at the other side of the table. Her power held itself in the air around him, clinging to the back of his tongue with a metallic taste and lingering at the base of his skull with a pleasant buzz. He'd grown used to the wild fluctuation of her magic after her return from the Fade, but it still worried him that she was affected by it so. He'd been watching her closely as she milled about Skyhold, knowing that he had some part to play in her anxious state. She did well to hide it usually, but he could feel her, knowing her magic as well as he would know his reflection in a mirror.

Having spent so much time together in and out of combat he'd begun to recognize her… signature of sorts while she cast. It was a pull on his senses, a ripple in the Veil that was solely her. The more he focused on it, the better he was able to feel her presence around him, and for once this aspect of his Templar training gave him some pleasure, but he worried for her.

So it was with lips pressed into a thin line and hooded eyes that he scanned the report in his hand while she paced the length of the war room. Flames danced on the candelabras in her wake, flicking to and fro more frequently as her pace picked up. She had changed since her capture - become troubled - and he'd done a terrible job of bringing her comfort. Even though some part of him still felt that old fear and prejudice within him, he knew better than to let it cow him and control his life. She deserved better of him. He deserved better of himself.

He remembered the day that her phylactery went cold about his neck, and his hand clenched as he willed the desperation he'd felt to the back of his mind. She was well and here - with him. He wouldn't want her anywhere else.

That desire, though, would not stop her from eroding a trench in the stone beneath her feet.

"Evelyn," he said gently, rousing her from whatever had been sending her to expend her energy so actively. She needed to ground herself once more and find the calm state of mind that allowed her control over her abilities. Of course, he was ignorant enough about mage self-mastery that he had no idea how to even begin helping her.

Evelyn looked up at him and his breath caught in his throat. Her hair reflected the fire as if spun from gold, her large blue eyes luminous, and there was a pretty blush staining her cheeks. She was distressed, that much was clear from the tightness around her eyes.

"What's troubling you?" he asked, placing the report down on the large table as he moved toward her.

Her voice broke as she held a hand up to her mouth, as if trying to stop the emotion from showing. "I can't… . All of the death, all of the sorrow, risking the people I love without proper consideration. You. Maker, especially you, Void take me."

Reaching for her, he carefully drew her hands into his own, their size engulfing hers. She wasn't making much sense, but he thought he understood, and he wanted to try. "Look at me."

She peeked up from beneath her lashes, where unshed tears hung like little crystals. "Evelyn, look. At. Me." He squeezed her hands for emphasis, pleased when she tipped her head up to face him fully. Despite the grimace twisting her features, she was exceptionally beautiful, and he could scarcely believe a time not so long ago when they would never have shared a moment as raw and precious as this.

"You can do this," he said, using the same words she'd offered him when he needed to hear them.

She let loose a quiet sob, slipping her hands free of his and closing the distance between them. Maker, he felt wonderful beneath her hands.

"I don't know what I'm doing, my magic problem is frustrating me, and all I want to do is lose myself in your arms. I'm a horrible Inquisitor. I should be  _doing_  something to help people - like you or Leliana, or Josephine." Her voice was muffled against his chest, the cloth there catching and wicking away her tears.

He huffed at her absurd criticism of herself. She truly had no notion of just how amazing she was. His arms came around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him and wishing he'd forgone his armor.

"It's not easy, I know, and I realize that I'm an idiot. I should be there for you, but I don't know how when it's your magic that's involved. Be that as it may," he spoke, voice dropping an octave as his hand came up to brush against her hair, "I'm glad you're here. Besides, you are fearless. You tackle difficult problems head on and without complaint. Honestly, beautiful, you're inspiring."

"Me? Fearless?" She laughed, a bitter sound. "I'm afraid of everything!"

"Being afraid and yet having the courage to do what must be done is the very essence of bravery."

She was silent a moment before pulling back, searching his face. "Do you know what I'm most terrified of?" She let out a steadying breath and fisted his mantle in her hands.

The question was so quiet he almost didn't hear. "Hmmm?"

Her lip trembled, but she forced herself to look up directly into his beguiling amber eyes. "I'm afraid of walking out of this room and never again in my whole life feeling the way I feel when I'm with you. I don't want to lose you. Ever. I-"

Cullen interrupted her, voice rough with emotion. "You will never, never lose me. I can be boorish, insensitive, and forceful, but I will never walk away from you, Evelyn Trevelyan, as long as you'll have me."

He muttered something after that and she could not make out the words, but there was no need. His kiss, soft lips and leashed passion, told her explicitly what he was trying to say. He desired her as much as she desired him, and with an intensity that set fire to her blood. Happiness, pure and unfettered suffused her being as she gave herself to Cullen's kiss, using her hold on his mantle to pull herself closer to him.

Evelyn's magic sparked in the air around them, and Cullen's senses were dizzied, but he would not pull away - not this time. He told her he wanted all of her, and that was absolutely the truth, but he was better at articulating his feelings more aptly through his body language than in words. So that was exactly what he endeavored to do.

He laced his hands through her hair, soft tendrils tickling the insides of his wrists as she pushed herself closer yet, seeking the heat and strength of him. Evelyn was vaguely aware of Cullen drawing her backward, coming to a stop when he hit the edge of the war table. He widened his stance, pulling her near again so that she was caged between his thighs.

Right where he wanted her. Cullen broke away from Evelyn's tempting lips and blazed a trail of scorching kisses down the length of her throat. He inhaled, filling his head with her - her scent and her magic, the feel of her body pressing against his - all drawn into a heady mixture of everything that made him want her.

She shifted in his arms, shrugging expertly out of the bodice of the dress she had been wearing, revealing herself to him. He bit back a curse at the sight of her, and thought that he would never tire of seeing the soft curve of her breasts pressed up against his chest.

"Care to join me?" she asked breathlessly, running her palms up over his breastplate and over his shoulders to shove his fur mantle to the floor.

"Maker, Evelyn, is that even a question?"

Driven by a force he could no longer control, Cullen's hands wrapped around Evelyn's waist. He lifted her and turned, seating her on the edge of the war table while her skirts fluttered about their legs.

"Cullen?" Surprised to find herself sitting on the table, Evelyn raised a brow at her lover and reached for him again. He swatted her hands away, quickly unbuckling and untying the various stays of his armor until it fell away with a loud thud while he kissed her with an abandon that left her head fuzzy with desire. Only when he broke the kiss and dropped to his knees between her parted thighs did she rouse.

His name was half formed on her lips when he slid his now-bare hands up the inside of her thighs to tease her womanhood. She had to bite her lip to keep her delighted squeal quiet when he shoved up the skirts of her dress and replaced his fingers with the wet heat of his mouth.

Cullen dragged his tongue over her core, pausing to pay attention to the small bud of desire that caused Evelyn to buck against him with another stifled moan.

"Bloody hell," he growled against her sensitive flesh, nose and lips wet with her. Suddenly a partial reason for all of her frustration came to light, and he could have kicked himself. What stupid, idiotic, moronic fool would ever deny himself this? His tongue was joined by the press of his thumb against her pearl, and her shudder at the contact let him know she was enjoying this as much as he was.

"Please," she whimpered at another flick of his tongue, "don't stop touching me."

Cullen gave a choked laugh, groaning at the mere thought of stopping now while his cock throbbed painfully inside of his leathers. "Evelyn, I could not stop touching you if all of the demons in the Fade were snapping at my heels."

At once he stood, pulling her legs further apart and wrapping them around his waist as he freed himself from his leathers. Stepping closer, Cullen dropped his forehead to hers, holding her gaze as he pressed himself into her. Evelyn's breath hitched in the back of her throat, her arms wrapping around Cullen's broad shoulders for support as he seated himself completely inside of her. It was now her turn to bite back a curse as he bent her backward over the war table. Her back made contact with the parchment outlining the topography of the Western Approach, hair fanning out over the waking sea and curling about the Anderfels.

"You," Cullen murmured between kisses, the thrusts of his hips measured and patient, "are the most wonderful woman in all of Thedas."


	19. Chapter 19

He felt her before he saw her.

Cullen always knew Evelyn by the tell-tale crackle of magic that skittered up his spine. Usually, he felt soothed by its presence, but lately its intensity had increased, and with it, Cullen's peace with the arcane dwindled. He knew well enough that Evelyn was not dangerous to anyone here in Skyhold, at least not intentionally, but she had admitted just last night that even she was beginning to fear the lack of control she had over herself.

Worse yet, she'd mentioned something he tried very hard not to think about, but that his Templar training would not ignore. She'd discussed the possibility of her being approached by a demon in the Fade as she slumbered, and that if she were to become compromised, that she would prefer if Cullen would strike the killing blow.

What was a man supposed to say to that? The disciplined and logical side of his nature agreed immediately, but the part of him that loved her desperately, the part of him that thundered against his ribs whenever she was near, would have none of it. He couldn't. The ferocity of the ache in his chest was almost crippling at the thought, and he strove to drive such unwelcome notions from his head.

Yet, long after she had fallen asleep, the sound of her breathing soft and deep, he had remained awake, holding vigil over her as if he were overseeing the apprentices back in the Circle Tower. It was not with some misplaced fear  _of_ her that he remained awake, stroking her pale cheek with the backs of his knuckles, but his fear  _for_ her. The distinction was paramount, and he was finding that it applied to many of the mages he'd come to know since joining the Inquisition.

Would he ever be able to perform the duties of a Templar again? Was he so weak-willed that he would allow demons and abominations to run rampant over his charges?

The Templar within him put his foot down with a resounding thud, told him he was a bloody idiot for even thinking he wouldn't do the deed, and Cullen resolved that he, at least in part, could still transform into the unseeing, unfeeling monster that had driven him to abandon the Order. Some habits died hard, and some were altogether immortal.

Evelyn's small, deft hand pressed against his back as she circled around to his side, rousing him from his unhappy thoughts. She looked up at him with earnest blue eyes and that beguiling smile, and he was struck again by how much he cared for her.

He  _should_  have been paying attention to the drills his newest recruits were performing, searching for imperfections in their stance or weaknesses in their blows. Instead, he returned Evelyn's smile, enjoying the small moment of peace he found within himself at the sight of her.

"Maker save me from these love-struck losers," came a sigh of exasperation. Friend, whose essence was still contained within that ridiculous nug skull, rolled between their legs, heading straight for Cullen's recruits.

"Hey! You! Even  _I_  know enough about swordplay to know you'll break your arm with a limp wrist like that. Jeez, have you spent your whole life writing clever insults to your betters and eating sweets?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes at the spirit's comment, passing an apologetic look to Cullen.

"Rude!" Friend spoke again when the soldier he taunted, having enough of him, whacked the tiny skull with the flat of his blade. "Is that all you got? You barely left a scratch! Ack! Hey! Wait! No!"

The affronted soldier had advanced on Friend, and when the spirit decided to run - roll - away, the man followed, spewing curses and deadly promises to return 'that Blighted demon straight back to the Fade'.

"Ow!" The soldier's sword made contact with Friend's skull once again. "Can we call a truce? I promise I'll be nice. You  _do_  like sweets, don't you? Ow!"

"I should go rescue him from himself," Evelyn sighed, beginning to move away when Cullen caught her elbow.

He was watching the soldier chase the spirit about, another beginning to join is as the pursual became more of a game than anything else. "Let them be. It'll be good for them." He could scarcely believe he was allowing the spirit to play any role in his training, but the damn thing was teaching them, in its own strange way, to think on their feet and how to build up their stamina and dexterity - perhaps without even knowing it.

"You're sure?"

Cullen shrugged, returning his gaze to her once more. "If anything, it's a break. I've been working them hard."

Her smiled returned, even with Friend's begging echoing off of Skyhold's battlements in the background - something about mercy and Andraste. Near by, Ferelden sat with Hawke, one paw covering his eyes at the scene while the Champion tried, and failed, to conceal her laughter.

"Do you think would allow me a favor?" Evelyn asked.

For her? Anything.

"What would you have of me?"

"Dorian and I believe that the surest way to deal with my little problem is to exhaust my magic. For that, I'd prefer to have a Templar on hand in case things get out of control." She brought her fingers up to grip his elbow. "Or someone with Templar abilities whom I trust not to smite me into the next age."

Cullen quirked a brow at her phrasing. " _Exhaust_  you? Have I not been doing well enough so far?"

Her blush threatened to leave her permanently pink as she struck out a hand to whack his breastplate. The resulting clang only made him laugh at her as she clutched her abused hand to her chest. Evelyn's glare was half-hearted, fading altogether when Cullen drew her hand into both of his, smoothing his thumbs over her reddened knuckles.

"I'm sorry," he said with a small chuckle, looking up under his lashes at her from where he'd been focused on her fingers curling about his palm, "I couldn't resist. Now, perhaps you should fill me in a bit more on what exactly you plan to have me do to you."

"Cullen," she drew out the word, voice stern, but she held a playful look in her eye. It was good to see him let down his guard.

"Sorry! Sorry," he chuckled, placing a quick kiss first to her knuckles, then to the Chantry brand on her forehead before nodding to the rest of his men who were trying  _very_  hard not to spy on their Commander's personal affairs. "After dinner."

"Of course," she replied, smiling brightly at him before moving to seek out her father, who had taken a great liking to spending time with Master Dennet at the stables.

Cullen turned abruptly back on his recruits, fixing them all with a stern glare. "I do not recall asking any of you to stop!"

Scrambling to get their bearings and assure the Commander that they were, indeed,  _not_  spying on his small dalliance with the Inquisitor, the soldiers once again filled the yard with the sounds of swordplay while Friend wailed miserably in the background at the injustice of being thwarted by a mere human.

* * *

"This is an...Eluvian?" Evelyn spoke with a kind of child-like wonder, reaching out with a gentle touch to brush her fingertips across the faint etchings along the mirror's frame.

"That's correct. I managed to find this one some time ago and restored it at great cost." Lady Morrigan's voice resonated with great respect on the matter of the eluvian, trailing off into distaste at Corypheus' name on her tongue.

Earlier that morning, after Friend's episode in the training yard with Cullen's recruits, Evelyn and Cullen had stood fidgeting across the war table from one another, hoping that the others wouldn't immediately be able to identify the source of their discomfort. Obviously, not a full day had passed since their romantic interlude in that very room, and on the very spot Leliana was now drawing attention to with a regal nod of her head.

Cullen had cleared his throat, shifting the conversation to the Inquisition's numerous victories against the Templars and the Venatori. More confident when speaking of military matters, Cullen had almost been preening - so delighted was he with the strength of their force against the Darkspawn magister that he had likened Inquisition troops to the infamous Chevaliers of Orlais. Evelyn had not been able to contest that point. Cullen was a harsh taskmaster, but his men knew what they were about when they left his watchful eye.

"As well trained as they are," Leliana had spoken softly, but firmly, "Corypheus has decamped to the Arbor Wilds, and my scouts have yet to discern a reason for such a long trek to a seemingly desolate location."

"The Western Approach was desolate as well," Peter had spoken up from his place beside Evelyn, Hawke observing the map with keen eyes as she had stood at his elbow. "However, Hawke and I intercepted many missives indicating that the Venatori were looking for some kind of artifact there. It appeared Corypheus first thought that the Tevinter spoils from Arlathan would contain the artifact he sought."

Cullen nodded. "I remember that, and the same was for the Red Templars at Suledin Keep, if I remember the entries in the journals we found."

Lord Trevelyan had made a small, thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, remembering that frozen Void with not a shred of fondness. Evelyn felt much the same.

"Perhaps he's looking for what we we saw in the Fade," Evelyn had said, looking at Peter before holding up her marked hand for clarification. "I touched some kind of elven artifact at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, that much Solas confirmed, and as a result, this mark was placed on my hand. He was obviously trying to complete some manner of ritual when I interrupted him. Perhaps he needs to find another such artifact for a second try?"

That was when Morrigan had entered the war room, obviously having heard the last bit of their discussion. "I believe I may have an answer to your inquiry."

Shaking herself of the memory, Evelyn watched Morrigan step into the mirror and out of sight. She followed, and Lord Trevelyan came in soon after.

Lord Trevelyan had inserted himself into Evelyn's departure from the war room with Morrigan. While Cullen and Peter had particulars to discuss regarding Corypheus' movements, it was the least the father of the Inquisitor could do to keep an eye on her. Though, if Adair were honest with himself, he would have recognized his desire to accompany his daughter for what it really was: nervousness. While Lord Trevelyan was very open minded for a Templar, he still retained a suspicion of mysterious magic, and was therefore compelled to accompany his daughter and the strange woman from the Orlesian Court when she hinted that she had something of a magical nature to show her.

He'd nearly lost his only Evelyn once to complacency. He would not make the same mistake again.

Adair hadn't expected the woman to show them an Elven relic. He'd heard of such things, of course, but only through text or rumor. Such was their rarity that often those rumors got out of hand. Still, he couldn't deny the small shiver of unease he felt as he stepped through the mirror glass and into a misty realm full of the very same artifacts as the one he'd just walked into.

"Is this the Fade?" he asked, slowly scanning his surroundings. While it looked a bit depressing, the feeling here was peaceful. He couldn't imagine that they were still in Thedas. The Lyrium in his blood told him as much, humming in his veins at the nearness of magic that was not at all related to the two mages he was with.

"Not quite," Morrigan said, slowing her pace to turn around and face them. "If this place once had a name, it's been long lost to our kind. I call it the Crossroads. It is a place where all eluvians join - at least that I have been able to surmise." She looked pointedly around her, watching closely as Evelyn reached out to touch one of the other mirrors. "I imagine each of these mirrors lead to a city, since the elves never laid roads. Perhaps at one time, they would allow for travel between individual houses."

"Incredible that the Imperium would destroy such useful magic," Adair murmured, surprised when Evelyn's fingertips brushed over the darkened surface of the mirror she was examining. The frame glowed, a faint blue light tracing a myriad of etchings along its worn surface.

Morrigan looked stunned. "What did you do? I have studied the eluvian for years, and activating the one I have required much more effort to open than that." She paused, a frown quickly forming on her face. In the next breath, it was gone.

"I'm not sure," Evelyn replied, making no move to go through the now active mirror.

"Well, I would guess that, much like a door in our world, each of these Eluvians has its own kind of lock. Only the owner retains the key."

"You think this one was just left 'open'?" she asked.

"That is possible." Morrigan's eerie gaze shifted from the eluvian and back to Evelyn's face. "I've come across tales of an eluvian hidden in an elven temple, deep within the Arbor Wilds. I intended to go after the artifact myself, but the temple proved too dangerous to approach. If Corypheus has indeed turned southwards in the hope of obtaining a rare elven artifact, I've no doubt that the eluvian I had once heard of is his intended prize."

With a frown, Evelyn turned back around, catching her father's gaze. "It's astounding that the ancient elves could do this," she said. "It's as if they hollowed out a portion of the Fade and set it aside to serve their purpose. How in Thedas did the Tevinter Imperium manage to bring them down when they're capable of such feats?"

"Who can say? This place has been lost for ages, as have the eluvian themselves." Morrigan hummed thoughtfully, walking slowly back toward the portal they'd come from. "This place, unstable and old as it is, offered me sanctuary. If Corypheus comes here, he would know that it is close enough to the Fade to find some way to tear down these ancient barriers and destroy this place. I would not see that happen, never mind that Corypheus himself is dangerous to all if he manages to enter the Fade - not just this place."

Adair frowned, casting one last look around the strange realm before he too made for the portal. "The creature seeks to enter the Fade in the flesh, and the Inquisition has made him desperate." His blue eyes, the same shade as his daughter's, found Evelyn's face and the mark of the Tranquil still branded upon it. "It would be prudent to end this swiftly before he reaches the eluvian and causes even more chaos."

"To that," Morrigan said, leading them back through the eluvian and closing it behind her, "I completely agree, Lord Trevelyan."

Evelyn nodded, drawing in a fortifying breath. "I will tell Cullen to begin preparations for a march on the Arbor Wilds. Corypheus has a head start, but our armies are not scattered and afraid. We should have the advantage in organization, if not time. Hopefully, Corypheus is as bad as Sera with directions."

* * *

Evelyn was late. Maker, how in Thedas did it get to be so dark! Here she and Cullen had an arrangement, and she'd gone and blown the entire day traipsing about in some forgotten realm with Morrigan and her father. Adair, for all of his Templar suspicions about unknown magic, had seemed rather impressed with the whole thing, only judging it when he determined whether or not it was harmless.

It was one of the things she loved about her father. Adair Trevelyan reserved judgement until the last possible moment.

It'd taken her a long time to see that in him.

She hurried through the door into the main hall, stopping to scan the room for her Commander. Relief flooded her when he met her gaze from where he sat at a long table with the others of her inner circle, simply quirking a brow at her as he pretended to be paying attention to some such story Sera was hawking about a countess, a riding crop and a pair of very nice boots.

"Eat," Cullen ordered gently, sliding a plate of food over to her as he nodded to Adair who took a seat on Evelyn's other side.

She thanked him with a quick squeeze of his knee beneath the table, uttering an apology before she practically inhaled the meal. That was one got for not eating all day. She had been too invested in her work this morning, keen on finishing her documentation of Chantry offenses before approaching the others about it, and then the meeting in the war room which had landed her a very interesting field trip through a magic mirror.

She'd mentioned the Chantry project to her father some time ago. He had given a quiet pause before nodding and saying that it was worth looking into. How he personally felt about the matter, she didn't know. Cullen, on the other hand, was almost as invested as she was. Given all he'd been through in his time with the order, she could scarcely blame him, and his budding concern for the mages was heartwarming if, at times, frustrating when he didn't quite grasp a mage's take on Chantry authority.

At least he was trying.

Cullen had a good heart, anyone could see that, and it wasn't out of hatred that he distrusted mages, but fear. There was a fine line between the two, and she suspected that perhaps at some time in his life, he truly had despised her kind, but it would have never been the same burning hatred she had seen in the men who killed without thought or remorse, treating her peers as animals to be culled.

Cullen was quick and intelligent, and this elevated him in many ways from those in the order who obeyed without question or believed everything spoken to them.

"So what did you and Dorian have in mind?" Cullen asked, inclining his head toward the mage in question who was puffing himself up like a peacock after he'd suffered some indignity spoken by Bull, who only smiled lazily at the Vint's obvious ire.

Evelyn swallowed the last of her meal, and smiled a bit sheepishly up at him. Cullen was immediately on guard. That look meant that she wanted something from him - something, he suspected, he wouldn't be very pleased about.

As if sensing his trepidation, she excused herself from the table, placing a hand on her father's shoulder while she kissed his cheek, and then motioned for Dorian and Solas to follow. When they were well enough away from the hall, she cleared her throat and fixed him once more with that smile.

"I believe the closest thing to what we're thinking would be sparring."

He hesitated. "So, not like our practice before?"

She seemed to search the arching ceiling for the proper words and found none, resigning herself to a simple "Yes."

"So we are speaking of sparring like my soldiers do."

"Yes, but it would be you against me. I want to test myself, you see, and you're really the only person I trust enough who can negate my magic outright if anything...happens."

"Evelyn…"

"Please?" Her earnest plea had him grinding his molars down to stubs, but he was powerless to refuse her this. It was a logical request, but that didn't change the fact that it made him uncomfortable. In their training before, he'd merely shown her a skillset and worked with her to practice it. This- This was entirely different. She was asking him to fight her - with live weapons - and he honestly did not think it would be fair.

Evelyn had certainly come a long way in her offensive magic since joining the Inquisition, and especially under his tutelage, but she was still green in his estimation. Maker, if he wasn't careful, he could seriously hurt her.

"You're sure this is what you want? I'm...not exactly gentle."

She grinned, a thing that set his blood on fire and had desire coiling like a snake in his belly. He would never tire of that expression.

"Exactly," she said simply. "That's the idea."

He debated for a moment, knowing that this was not wise for many reasons. However, he ought to give her the benefit of the doubt. Evelyn was not  _new_  to magic in any capacity, which would have inspired more confidence in him were it not for her little predicament.

 _That's why you're going to help, Maker damn the consequences_ , he told himself, and not one hour later he and Evelyn stood across from each other in the derelict ballroom beneath Skyhold. Dorian and Solas stood nearby, looking like a pair of over-curious mad scientists as they regarded he and the Inquisitor.

Friend had also come along and, apparently having not learned his lesson from earlier in the day, now attempted to tell Evelyn how best to get Cullen on his back. 'Not that you really need the help,' he said.

Ignoring the Blighted spirit like a small, petulant child, Cullen's knuckles whitened on the grip of his sword, Lyrium humming pleasantly within the silverite blade. It felt all wrong with the woman he loved standing just in front of him. He adjusted his grip on the blade, but didn't draw, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously.

"Before we do anything, I first wish to see what exactly you mean by being unable to control your power. I know that I've felt you slip a few times, but I confess I'm rather ignorant of it on your end."

Evelyn nodded, looking around the room for a moment, eyes landing on the rubble that poured through an old broken set of doors at the far end. She had wondered, she thought in a moment of distraction, what lay behind those doors.

"Do you see that boulder over there?" Evelyn abandoned that random thought, stepping up beside Cullen to indicate the large rock with a small flick of her fingers.

"Yes."

"I'm going to try and roll it away from us, alright?"

He frowned, trying to think where exactly she was going with this. "Alright."

He watched her concentrate a moment before his eyes left her face to follow her line of sight to the boulder, and at once he could feel the torrent of magical energy around him. It was erratic and powerful, pressing and pulling at his senses in a way he found both exciting and terrifying. If he didn't know he was in love with the generator of all that chaos, he would have thought himself insane for the duality of his feelings where her magic was concerned. How could a person love something so much, and yet be frightened of it at the same time?

The feeling intensified, and before his eyes the boulder, which had once stood solid and whole for Ages, simply exploded into a hundred little pieces.

"Andraste's flaming knickers!" Cullen exclaimed, eyes wide as he looked from the remains of the boulder to Evelyn's face. "Evelyn, if I defended against that with my Templar abilities, I could very well kill you."

No.

_No._

_Absolutely not._

No.

"I am not taking part in this. It's far too dangerous," he huffed.

Evelyn panicked. "Wait!" She grabbed his empty hand between her own, expression caught between worry and desperation. "Cullen, please."

He sighed, hating to disappoint her, but he could  _not_  take the risk. "Evelyn," he brought up both hands to frame her face, eyes searching hers for forgiveness, "I will not hurt you. I refuse, and damn it, I  _know_  if I panic for any reason that I could possibly hurt - no -  _kill_  you, and I will not put either of us in that situation."

"Look what I can do!"

Cleaving through the serious moment like Bull's broadaxe through Darkspawn, Friend rolled between them, skull hovering fixed above a rounded rock which the spirit had somehow managed to incorporate into his, err, "body".

Evelyn growled, a frustrated little sound that Cullen would have found adorable had he not just felt a blatant connection between her and the spirit. Magic sparked between them like electricity, lasting only a second before it faded. His head shot up to Dorian and Solas, the former striding over while the latter appeared to scrutinize Evelyn more closely, almost glaring at her.

"Oh goody! You found a rock. Is this the part where I pat you on the head, say "good boy!" and send you off with some kind of spirit treat?" Dorian scoffed with assessing eyes, purposefully trying to bait Friend.

The spirit bristled, visibly, a pulse of blue light preceding the litany of extremely colorful words he had in store for the mage. At the same time that light flashed, however, Cullen felt Evelyn's magic bluster about erratically. It felt like the very same fluctuation he'd experienced when the spirit had annoyed her. Thinking back on it, earlier that day in the training yard, he'd felt something similar, but hadn't thought much about it, used to her magic as he was.

Thankfully, he wasn't imagining it and Dorian and Solas had seemed to catch on.

"Fascinating!" the Tevinter exclaimed, a grin broadening beneath his carefully styled moustache. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before. Evie, darling, you and this," he glanced down at the still raging Friend, then back up again to the Inquisitor, " _thing_ are connected. When you entered the Fade, you said that you more or less absorbed the parts of yourself that were present, correct?"

Evelyn nodded, understanding beginning to alight in her eyes. "Yes. Friend had collected most of them for me."

Dorian nodded, seeming certain now, and Cullen could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. "He has told us that spirits absorb other spirits, forming into stronger beings like the ones we name. Valor, Love, Clean Underwear, and all that. Well, you - your magic, anyway, it had been in the Fade for quite some time, and in proximity to a rather powerful spirit. What if, simply by his nature, Friend had begun to absorb your magic, taking it into himself?"

"And then I came along and took it back...but not all of it." They all glanced down at the spirit, who paused when he noticed the attention focused on him. "So," she mused, exchanging a glance with Cullen, "a part of my magic is still in there?"

"That's my thinking, yes. You're still not entirely whole. No wonder you're finding it so difficult to control your magic. Darling, you're trying to save your coins in a bag that has a hole at the bottom. Everything is just going to fall right out if you don't patch it," Dorian tried to clarify.

"Huh. That must suck." Friend's examination of the situation at hand left much to be desired in the way of sensitivity and helpfulness, but Cullen couldn't deny that he was correct on that account.

"So," Evelyn spoke slowly, thinking through this new revelation, "do you think there's a way to fix that?"

"Short of killing the spirit, no," Solas finally spoke up, circling around behind Friend.

"Done," Cullen said, bare sword flashing in the light of the now setting sun as he drew it from its scabbard.

"What! Hey, now, Templar, I know we haven't always-"

"He's not going to kill you." Evelyn spoke up quickly, then looked at Cullen. "He was only joking. I think."

The Commander merely rolled a shoulder nonchalantly, causing his sword to glint threateningly again while he regarded the spirit with an unnervingly placid expression.

"In that event," Solas spoke up, preventing the conversation from spiraling further out of control, "then we can say the Inquisitor merely needs to get used to being uncomfortable, as it were. I still believe a round with the Commander would do some good, and if nothing else, drain the excess troublesome energy away for a time. Perhaps permanently. I cannot say."

Dorin hummed, one long pale finger stroking the patch of hair beneath his lower lip. "As our lovely Commander has said, he would prefer not to engage the Lady Trevelyan. I, however, hold no such reservations." The Tevinter turned a smile on Evelyn.

Evelyn laughed at his suggestion. "Didn't we agree that using more magic might make matters worse?"

"Trust you to remember something I said when I was sober," he lamented with a sigh. "Ah, but you are right." Sliding a calculating gaze over to Cullen, he said, "Are you sure you're not game for a bit of fun."

Cullen's glare silenced the mage. Yes, he was absolutely sure he wasn't going to risk Evelyn on theory alone. He did, however, have an idea beginning to form in his head that  _might_  help without either of them coming out worse for wear.

"Have you been to been Hetter House, Evelyn?"

By the perplexed look on her face, he knew that she had not.

"It's an old farmhouse we appropriated when our forces began to overflow from Skyhold. A group of women run the place, and it's used primarily for those too sick and injured to return to their former duties." Cullen brushed his thumb along his lower lip, warming to the idea. "Do you think use of your healing magic in that capacity would be enough to do the trick? Is there a way for healing magic to be dangerous if you lose focus?"

The bright smile and laugh, accompanied by an abrupt hug to his midsection revealed to him how pleased she was with the idea. "I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner! Cullen, you're brilliant!"

He flushed at her praise, stonily avoiding Dorian's smirk at his reaction.

"I don't believe there  _is_  a way for a healing spell to misfire poorly. It's one of the reasons I chose to study it so thoroughly." Evelyn laughed again, placing a hand to her forehead. "Maker, I'd nearly forgotten…"

Cullen nearly allowed himself to feel bad for it, too, were it not for the boost to Evelyn's self-confidence that her offensive magic had given her. He did, though, think that using her abilities in this capacity would serve her better than sparring with  _him._

He shook his head to himself as he followed the mages from the room, intending to show them the route to the farmhouse before sundown. Mages. Sometimes they could be as single-minded as Templars.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the kind words and support, everyone! <3

"You never told me you and Dorian were related."

Evelyn smiled, running her fingers through Cullen's sandy blonde curls. "Very distantly. It's hardly worth mentioning, really, though I was surprised to learn my father knew of the connection to Magister Pavus."

Cullen huffed out a contented laugh. "I have a feeling your father secretly knows everything. Sometimes he reminds me a bit of Leliana." His eyes closed as his cheek lay on Evelyn's thigh. In merely two days they would prepare to march on the Arbor Wilds, the last known location of Corypheus' generals and the bulk of his Templar forces. Cullen didn't know what exactly lay in store for them, but he was willing to face it with Evelyn at his side.

Since the night a few days previous, he'd been concerned with Evelyn's inability to contain her magic safely. However, they'd managed to discover a method that both allowed Evelyn to focus her gift and do some good within the Inquisition.

He fondly remembered her coming to him after her first day assisting with the various illnesses and injuries that arrived at Hetter House. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

Her hair had been hastily pulled back, and pale, errant tendrils curled about her neck and face. Her dress, not one of Josephine's masterpieces, was a common, cotton Fereldan-styled garment that made him instantly homesick. It was damp with sweat and slicked with blood and grime, but add to that the flush on Evelyn's face as she recounted her activities that day, and he had thought none could charm any half as well as she in such a state.

"He reminds you of Leliana? I suppose I can see the resemblance, though his skill comes from raising six children, all who thought they were far more sly than they really were," she said.

"And running a Circle is far more similar to running a household than most would assume," Cullen added, thinking of his short stint as Knight Commander in Kirkwall. "Don't set fire to the draperies, be sure to tend to your studies, remember to wash behind your ears."

Evelyn laughed, covering the sound with the back of her hand. "Really?"

Cullen smiled, eyes still closed. "For the younger ones, definitely." He opened his eyes and stared ahead a moment before turning his gaze to her. "You were going to tell me what the Revered Mother wanted with Cassandra."

Evelyn's nose scrunched upward as she recalled the memory. She and Cassandra had just finished going over Evelyn's completed series of documents on Chantry abuses, and the Seeker had been surprisingly receptive to the data, though not keen on thwarting the institution altogether. They were on their way to speak with Leliana when they had been waylaid by the Revered Mother and Josephine, who had been doing an admirable job of containing the perturbed woman. Evelyn had imagined it might have been less intimidating to stare into the hungry gaze of a dragon.

"Inquisitor!" the Mother had shouted, calling Evelyn over and drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the courtyard. "It is high time a new Divine is named. With your," she cleared her throat, in what Evelyn had suspected was a disdainful manner, " _influence_ , your words would have meaning among many of the remaining faithful."

"My words?" Evelyn asked, brow furrowing in confusion. "You mean to ask me to support one of the candidates?" Evelyn was not at all certain she wished to do that, especially in light of the fact that she had been, at that very moment, preparing to challenge the Chantry and the laws by which it had governed for ages.

"No need to look so put out," the woman had snorted, clearly not pleased with Evelyn's lack of enthusiasm for the very backhanded favor the Revered Mother was doing for her. Yes, the Inquisitor should have been  _very_  thankful indeed that her opinion on the matter of the next Divine was sought after at all. "My peers have put forward two of your number for the Sunburst Throne."

"Members of the Inquisition?" Evelyn's brows had risen in surprise, and even Cassandra betrayed her shock at being named one of those considered, when the woman explained further.

That had certainly complicated matters, she thought, withdrawing from the memory to gaze down at her Commander.

"Leliana and Cassandra are being put forward as candidates for the next Divine, and I was asked to support one of them," Evelyn finally said to Cullen, her fingers still running lazily through his curls while he sprawled across her lap.

A small crease formed between his brows before it smoothed, his assessment of the situation evident by the myriad of expressions crossing his features.

"That is...interesting," he offered. "It's clear that both Leliana and Cassandra have rather progressive views on Chantry law, but the next Divine must be good for all the people of Thedas."

Evelyn nodded, letting out a small sigh. "Yes, it's not just about the mages and Templars. If there is to be a change, it needs to come in small steps. Radical movements incite wars, as we can see from Anders' example."

A rumble traveled through Cullen's chest at the mention of that name. If there was one person he hated almost as much as Uldred, Anders would be it. Were it not for him, half of the deaths he'd seen in the Hinterlands could have been avoided - probably more. Innocent civilians, children, all had suffered because of the outrage the events in Kirkwall had sparked.

"Which is why I am going to support Cassandra," she said quietly, hand stilling in his hair as she searched his face for a reaction.

"Cassandra would not abolish the Circles," Cullen replied, holding her gaze.

Both knew they had differing views on this matter insofar as who should be responsible for enforcing what, but thankfully the Inquisitor and her Commander could agree to disagree - at least with one another.

"I understand that, and I wouldn't want her to. The Circle is meant to be a safe place for mages to learn, and I would see it gain that reputation. However, stealing children in the night from their homes, forcing people into a gilded prison, threatening them with demon possession and Tranquility - these are things that need to be done away with. There must be a safer way for a Templar to leave the Order if they so choose, and stricter punishments for those who abuse their authority. Perhaps installing a Seeker at each circle to oversee the Order's activity."

"Mages  _are_  dangerous, Evelyn. I wouldn't see them imprisoned, but there must be some way to mitigate the potential damage while allowing them freedom. Perhaps more opportunities to learn outside the Circle?"

She sighed. "It's a start, yes, but-" she paused, biting her lip in indecision. "I was thinking of allowing all mages freedom from the Circle, if they so choose, once they pass their Harrowing. If such a test is to be used to determine self-discipline, then let it be done when an apprentice is prepared to face the danger, and allow them to return to their lives upon passing. It holds them accountable for their own behavior. Although it's not as if I expect this all to happen over night or be easy to implement."

"And if they choose to stay in the Circle?"

"Then they know that it is a safe place to stay or return to in their times of need. Having magic is not a sin, nor does it automatically make you a threat, but many still see it as such. Templars should be both guardian and disciplinarian, should the need arise, but not by right."

Cullen wasn't exactly sure how he felt about having mages roam about Thedas entirely unchecked after the Harrowing. Certainly it had never been done in his lifetime, nor had he come across such events in Chantry texts. The elves, however, seemed to manage just fine without Templar involvement, and Tevinter hadn't been swallowed up by the Void - yet.

He also understood, more and more lately, that what he knew of magic was little enough to fit into a thimble. He knew plenty of demons, that what what he was trained for, but what really did he know of  _magic_ except to fear it? Evelyn had taught him so much in these few years together, but how much more was there to know?

"You've spoken to Cassandra about your findings?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

The corner of Evelyn's mouth kicked up into a self-satisfied smirk. "You know how she is. She needs a plan, but she is receptive to my ideas. That's all I can really ask. At first, I was worried this business about a new Divine would hinder my project, but it seems that it will do more good than I thought."

"And Leliana?"

"She said her place is with the Inquisition."

"Hmmm."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, startled when he rolled over onto his stomach, bringing her with him. Cullen now lay with his chin on her sternum, arms hugging her legs while he looked at her with that bloody enigmatic gaze of his that made it so difficult to tell what he was thinking.

"It means I agree. Leliana does belong with the Inquisition, and I believe Cassandra will do much good if she succeeds Justinia as the next Divine. Being a Seeker, she comes from a place where she is knowledgeable about both mages and Templars, and she has certainly never seemed particularly biased to me."

"She had a lover at the Conclave, you know. He was a mage."

Cullen blinked, clearly having never thought of Cassandra in a way that would make her capable of taking a lover. "I think I would prefer to never think of Cassandra in that aspect."

Evelyn laughed, holding his amber gaze. "Alright then. What would you like to talk about?"

He smirked, an expression so lovely on him that it was almost unholy.

"I think I would prefer to skip talking for now," he replied quietly, pulling her further beneath him before capturing her lips in a kiss.

* * *

He only had one day left in which to do it, and Maker he was  _such_  a coward.

Cullen had been serious about courting Evelyn when he'd asked her father permission, but it was only after their little excursion to Honnleath that the reality hit him. She loved him and, Maker's breath, did he ever love her. That realization had him panicked and excited, and it was not a day after their return that he had gone to one of the smiths they'd brought back from his home town and asked the man to turn a seemingly ordinary coin into something fit for a noble lady.

He had not been disappointed. When the smith had finished his work - clearly a master of turning old, worn out currency into a work of art - he had called Cullen to his forge to inspect the piece, and the Commander could not rightly recognize the item. His eyes roamed over it critically, taking in the subtle shine of the silver metal and the gemstones sparkling in their settings. Flush with the surface of the ring, one sapphire, and two small diamonds were set into the little band. Cullen recalled having been completely relieved that the colors, true to Hawke's suggestion, worked perfectly together.

"Well, go on and take it, boy! It won't bite ye," the smith laughed, eyes alight with a canny kind of affection for the Commander he'd once known as a bashful, stammering young boy.

Cullen had plucked the ring gently from the smith's fingers, holding it in his open palm to inspect it further, almost reverently.

"So when are ye going to give it to her?" the smith asked again, keen on having his work on the Inquisitor's finger before the week was out.

The question had alarmed Cullen. He'd known he wanted to ask, but how? He was not a man to whom grand gestures of affection came easily, he could not spout out poetry or pretty words if he'd tried, and he definitely had never done anything like this before. Maker, send him a horde of demons, and he would feel more comfortable than at the mere thought of asking her to marry him.

"I- Well, I-," Cullen sighed through his nose, willing his stammering tell of nervousness to subside. "Soon," he'd said, not quite telling a lie, but also not quite spouting the truth, either.

Since then, every time he'd been forced to walk past that smith's forge, he had been given a glare so full of reproach that the normally indomitable Commander was reduced to a ten year-old boy begging apologies amid assurances that he would, indeed, ask soon. The sight had confused anyone who happened to see the interaction..

Of course, Leliana had not been fooled at all.

That was precisely how he now found himself the center of attention of two  _extremely_ curious women who would sooner let Skyhold fall down around their ears then let him out of their clutches - at least before he'd given them the answers they wanted.

Leliana was the first to speak.

"So you have a ring, and the Inquisitor's love, and yet you haven't done a thing with either. Tsk, tsk, Commander. If you still have yet to ask her, you must be planning something grand indeed."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "No...ah, no," he finished lamely, much to Josephine's disappointment.

"The nobility are accustomed to much celebration and show at the announcement of a marriage, Cullen," Josephine said with a small frown, "but luckily for you, Lord Trevelyan seems to enjoy whatever makes his children happy."

Well, as back-handed as that sounded, it made Cullen feel marginally better for his complete lack of pomposity - and the Lord Trevelyan's.

At his silence, the woman let out a thin snarl, holding out her hand firmly. "You are impossible, Cullen. Let me see it."

Leliana's eyes sparkled at Josephine's tenacity. "Yes, I've been anxious to see it since I first found out you employed Norris. The man is a rather accomplished jeweler."

Sending his eyes heavenward in a silent plea for patience, Cullen reached into the depths of his coat, pulled out the small silver band, and placed it into Josephine's palm. She began to inspect it immediately, merchant's eyes likely not missing one detail.

"This is not a pure precious metal," she concluded flatly. "Don't tell me you'd give Evelyn a simple silver-steel band. What in Thedas did you have this made from?"

Used to Josephine's high-handed moments, Cullen sighed and explained the story behind the coin he'd carried for the majority of his life and its significance to him. "I had hoped," he concluded as a blush traveled up his neck and to his cheeks, "that it would bring her as much luck as it has given me - as superstitious as that sounds."

The collective "aww" that followed very nearly had him snorting in exasperation. Yes, yes, it was sentimental, but he didn't want to share that with anyone else except Evelyn. Maker, he'd never live that down if word to his men got out that their Commander was an undeniable sap.

"Anyway," he said, plucking the ring from Josephine's noble little fingers, "I know I'm going to ask her, I just don't know how."

"Clearly," Leliana chuckled, eyes dancing with mirth. "May I make a suggestion?"

"As long as it doesn't involve any grandiose peacocking about like Dorian does when he touts his virtues to the world, I'll listen."

"Good," she smiled, catching Josephine's interest as well, "because I think you will like what I have to say."

* * *

Cullen absolutely did  _not_  like what Leliana had to say.

He loved Evelyn, there was absolutely no doubt about that, but he was only willing to sacrifice so much of his, and Evelyn's, dignity. Maker keep him, at the very least Evelyn understood that. It appeared their tittering, girlish spymaster did not.

_Recite poetry to her while laying her down on a bed of roses to-?_

No!

Besides, how in Thedas was he supposed to concentrate on reciting poetry while seducing his lady love? He'd be a stammering mess, and there was no way he would recite poetry in favor of having more intimacy with Evelyn. He didn't devour romance novels and breathe the stuff like Cassandra, and he definitely was not as articulate as Dorian.

With a huff Cullen stood on the narrow walk suspended between the library tower and his office, debating on what he should do. Even if he didn't like Leliana's suggestion, he still knew he had to do  _something_ , but what?

"Thinkin' hard, or hardly thinking?"

Cullen jumped, having not heard neither Hawke nor Peter approach from his office. Maker, he was losing his bloody mind.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he sighed, watching Hawke's grin broaden at his reaction to her simple question. He found the expression mildly irritating and always had, largely because he could never quite discern what was on her mind.

Peter chuckled, turning to lean against the low wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "I hear liquor is an excellent cure for that, especially if you're drinking with Bull. Honestly, I swear the millner couldn't even remember his own name last night."

Cullen allowed himself to relax a bit. He was in good company, after all, and perhaps they could serve as a distraction from his little problem. "Even if I tried, I doubt that drinking myself into a stupor would help."

Hawke waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Trouble in paradise?"

Cullen started, feeling the blush once again creep up his neck. "No. Nothing like that."

"Then what?" she pressed, and, Maker save him, he found that she might be able to help knock some sense into him on this matter. Hawke had, after all, helped iron out the design for Evelyn's ring.

Fine.

"I'm trying to think of- But I can't and- Agh!" Cullen scrubbed at his face with his hands, irritated with himself and his blatant cowardice.

Though he hadn't successfully elaborated on the nature of his troubles, and Peter was currently regarding him with a quizzical look, Hawke seemed to understand in that strange way of hers.

"Cullen," Marian said gently, but firmly, "whatever you do, she'll love it." But of course, being Hawke, she couldn't help the snarky remark following such a nice sentiment. "Unless you proposition her in front of her dad and the other dignitaries. Although Sera might think that's a grand idea."

" _Hawke!_ "

Peter rolled his eyes, even as the Champion sniggered at how well she'd managed to fluster the Commander.

" _Relax_ , Cullen. Everything will be fine."

That was easy for her to say, Cullen thought, excusing himself from their presence to go drown himself in work until dinner.

"You think he's alright?" Peter asked with a frown.

"He'll be fine. He's all over the place now, but when it comes down to it, he'll manage. That's just how he is when it comes to personal matters," Hawke replied with a small roll of her shoulder.

They continued on into the hold proper, meandering through Solas' room and out into the main hall where they crossed into the gardens.

"I know you and Cullen know each other well from Kirkwall, but how is it someone like you and someone like him ever crossed paths?"

Hawke regarded him for a moment out of the corner of her eye, wondering at the slight hint of envy in his voice. While Peter was a man of intense emotion, he was simply not the jealous type. She could, however, see his being a bit miffed that she, overtly destructive and annoying as she was, had made friends with the Commander while he had more or less resigned himself to a life of solitary secrecy at the behest of the Divine.

Really, that must be why the Seekers were such a touchy bunch.

Peter didn't have a great many friends, and his closest confidant was his sister. Hawke had hoped to get him to open up a bit more, but he was such a private person that it was difficult to manage, especially since their rather spectacular falling-out in the tavern a few weeks back.

"You'll never believe it, even if I told you."

He snorted. "Please. I watched you gallivant about Kirkwall with your friends slaying demons, blood mages, and rampant Qunari for an entire month. I'm a bit past shock and awe with you, Marian."

"Alright then. One of his Templars had been possessed by a demon. I'd heard about it from a friend in the Order, and by the time I reached the then-Knight Captain to tell him about it, he was already on the verge of boxing the kid's ears. Of course, when he did move in to shake some sense into him, the demon showed itself and I was forced to intervene."

"Hawke, a Templar is used to fighting demons. It's what they're for."

"I didn't want his pretty face to get scarred, though looking at him now, I have to say I was entirely ignorant of how well he would wear one."

Again, Peter rolled his eyes. "Alright, so you jumped into a fight between a demon and a Templar because you wanted to preserve his handsomeness. Then what?"

She chuckled. "Well, I somehow managed to not use my magic, but when the fight was over and he rounded on me, I knew he could tell I was a mage. The funny thing is, he didn't say a word about it. He thanked me for helping him, and I gave him the information I had on the remainder of his men who were dabbling with demons, then we went our separate ways. In thanks, I suppose, whenever I returned to the Gallows, I would first go to see him - ask if he had any work for me. He kept my secret, though to this day I'm not sure why. He had just as much to lose by associating with me as I did with him." Hawke sighed, blinking up at the blue sky as she thought a moment. "Anyway, that's how he should have killed me and I shouldn't have stuck my nose where it didn't belong."

"I got the impression that Cullen wasn't very fond of mages in his youth."

Hawke's expression darkened a bit at that, and she nodded in confirmation when her eyes settled back on her companion's face. "He wasn't. Cullen was a  _very_  different man from what you see today. I'm glad he's healing."

"So he was a total prig?"

"The worst. He was of a like mind to Meredith there for a while. Speaking of power hungry lunatics, has Erimond's detail arrived? "

Peter's nose scrunched up in disgust at the mere mention of the Magister's name. "Evelyn will be sentencing him tomorrow."

"Lucky bastard. She'll probably go soft on him."

Peter hesitated, remembering the frigid edge to his sister's eyes when he'd mentioned the man earlier. "I wouldn't be so sure. Evie certainly appears all smiles and good grace, but she has the potential to be rather ruthless."

Hawke snorted in disbelief. "Nuh uh. Really?"

Peter smiled. "Yes, but it takes some work to tick her off." He waved a hand to brush that conversation aside a moment. "While we have the time," he looked around at the relatively empty courtyard, "may I have a word?"

"We haven't been talking this whole time?" she asked sweetly.

Peter sighed, about to drop the subject when Hawke relented and nodded, saying, "Actually, there's been something I've been meaning to ask you too."

They walked a bit further until they had passed beneath the arbor, obscured by over-grown foliage and the twining vines of some plant Hawke hadn't the patience to identify.

She went first. If she didn't, there wasn't a force on the planet that would have her this courageous again in Peter's presence.

"Why did you come back?" she sputtered clumsily, unused to such conversations. She'd asked him this once before - more like thanked him, really, but he'd neglected to give her any sort of serious answer. Now that she'd had some time to think on it, and what Peter's actions meant for her, Hawke decided she needed just a bit more clarification before she was willing to step off the proverbial ledge.

Peter frowned, confused. "Pardon?"

She sighed, nervous and irritated that she had to elaborate, her unease igniting within her a frustration the likes of which she'd never experienced. "At Adamant, in the Fade. You went with Evelyn, and I thought for sure you were going to leave, but you didn't. Your dumb ass came back to fight with me, and I didn't ask you, didn't even want you to. So, why? And give me a serious answer this time, Trevelyan."

Her words were harsh, but Hawke's body language confirmed that she was feeling caged, nervous, and bashful. A confusing combination to be sure, but none the less endearing to Peter, who was largely unaffected by her small idiosyncrasies. He almost felt bad taking his time to answer her, watching her grow more and more flustered as time dragged on.

"Well," he began, beginning to feel his heart thud more quickly in his chest, "that would probably be because I care about you."

Her head shot up from where she'd hung it to stare at her hands, suspicion glittering in her eyes as she regarded him. It made him sad to wonder who or what had made her so mistrustful of nearly anyone who would give her a kind word.

"It's the truth," he continued, wanting her to see that he was sincere. "I was trying to tell you that night at the tavern, but of course you wouldn't let me."

"You had me backed up against a wall."

"You liked it."

She opened her mouth to argue that point, but she couldn't. She  _had_  liked it, and wanted to continue, but she just hadn't been in in the right mental state for it. Fenris had done quite the number on her, and even with Peter slowly worming his way under her defenses, she doubted she would ever quite be free of the insecurities that bloody elf caused her to develop.

Noticing her struggle to come back from the undeniable truth, Peter forged ahead. It was high time he confronted her with the reality of their association, if their conversation was to take this turn. "And, I think you like me. Problem is, I can't be sure, and it's driving me crazy. So I'm asking you, really nicely, to tell me if you ever believe you can think of me as anything other than a friend." He hesitated a moment and closed his eyes, sighing loudly when he opened them once more to pin her to the garden wall with their intensity. "Because I do, and you want to know what's more? I'd make the same decision that I did at Adamant. I would go back for you - and not because you'd die and get all of the glory or because you'd land me as the third wheel with Cullen and Evelyn. I would come back for you because I honestly don't think I'd be able to stand the thought of a world without you in it - at least not one I'd want to live in, anyway."

Hawke blinked, and perhaps for the first time in her life was left utterly speechless. She really didn't know what to say. No one had ever spoken to her like this before, and no one had ever pledged himself to her like this.

Maker this…

She trembled beneath his steady, pale gaze, hiding her hands behind her back because they were shaking with nerves. Hawke could feel her heart pounding so hard in her chest, she imagined that at any moment it would rattle right out of her mouth.

...this was insanity.

Tongue darting out to wet her lips, Marian willed her tumultuous thoughts to still so she could give him a proper response. He deserved that much, at least, for putting up with her time and again. Besides, they  _were_ friends and she...she  _did_  care for him.

But was caring for someone enough?

She'd cared for Fenris, had been infatuated with him certainly, but never had she felt the way she did with Peter around him. Peter was constant, level-headed, and kind. She knew enough of him to understand that he would not have sought her out on this matter, or even brought it up, if he wasn't absolutely serious.

So she took a deep breath, and said, "I do."

Peter cocked his head, looking like a Mabari trying to puzzle out a strange word, and Hawke would have laughed had she not been shaking like a leaf in a maelstrom.

"I mean that I do think of you as more than a friend. Often. Just not out loud." She sighed. "Look, I just can't take being blind-sided again, so if you're going to be a complete asshole, I'd really just appreciate it if you could get that over with now, and then just be really,  _really_ attractive from a distance, okay?"

Peter's lips quirked into a small smile as he took a step toward her. "A  _complete_  asshole, you say?"

He was trying to make her comfortable, and while Hawke was beginning to calm down, it was not because of Peter's shit sense of humor. She discovered, with more and more certainty, that she had made the right decision. She cared for the Inquisitor's hot brother, damn it, and she'd be damned if she was going to let some lanky, silver-haired rogue from another life ruin her chance at happiness. While what happened with Fenris would always haunt her, she'd found peace with Peter, and it was time to finally let go.

"While I'm sure you've half-assed a great many things in your life, Peter Trevelyan, I believe it would only take a complete one to leave me." She raised a brow, almost in challenge at him, and he let loose a laugh that warmed her all the way from her toes to the roots of her hair.

"Here," Peter spoke, reaching behind his back to pull out a small, oddly-shaped knife from beneath his tunic. He held out the implement to Marian with a gentle kind of reverence that immediately cued her in on the fact that the blade was dear to him.

Hawke took it gingerly in both hands, looking it over. The blade was old, perhaps as old as Peter was, but the edge was sharp and the metal well taken care of. The grip was made from soft leather cut into strips, and sewn to each stip was a lock of hair that was woven into a braid along the handle. At the end of the grip, where a pommel might be on a sword, she could see that the handle of the knife itself was part of an antler, the three-pronged tip curving out from the piece. Carved into the antler were several symbols that she was surprised she recognized, and she looked up at Peter with a raised brow.

"These are alchemical symbols."

"My sisters doing. She mindlessly carved that antler years ago to pass time when she first entered the Ostwick Circle. I might have stolen it from her."

Hawke smiled. "Stealing from your little sister? Why am I not surprised?"

He laughed, and nodded toward the blade. "That's called a Dagr Agos. It's an old custom from my country that when a boy desires to become a man, he's to forge a blade all his own. The items used to craft the Dagr must all have special meaning to the person forging it. The process of creating it is seen to be an exercise in patience and reflection, and once it's finished, the blade is to be kept against the skin at all times, so it binds to a person's soul over time and becomes part of him."

Hawke turned the blade over in her hands, examining it much more closely than she had at first. "So the hair-?"

"Horse hair, from my first riding pony, Thistle. Holy terror, that one," he grinned. "The brown hair is from my second horse Ginger."

"Ginger?"

"She reminded me of the cookie. Don't give me that look. I was ten."

"And the antler for Evelyn…"

"And Evan. I added that part later when the first grip had given out. I missed them."

"This must mean an awful lot to you," she said, still a bit confused as to why he had so suddenly handed the blade to her.

"It does, which is why I'm giving it to you."

Hawke blinked. "Sorry?"

"That's the other part of the custom revolving around the Dagr Agos. When a man finds a person that means more to him than himself, he's to present the Dagr to them. If the Dagr is accepted, it's then seen as a bond between the two, so long as the Dagr is within that individual's possession."

Hawke's heart began to beat faster yet again, a flush blooming on her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. "You want me to have this?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, if you want it."

Her fingers tightened on the grip of the blade, and when her eyes met his, she smiled and said, "Alright."

She didn't give herself the time to overthink the gesture. It was what it was. Peter had said he cared for her, and giving her the Dagr had reinforced his claim. She believed him when he'd said it, too. The blade was clearly very special to him, and it was all the more significant to Hawke because he had chosen to give it to her.

"Maker," Peter sighed, "can I please just kiss you now?"

She beat him to it, holding the Dagr Agos in one hand while the other snaked up behind his head to grip his hair and bring his lips down to meet hers.

* * *

The crimes were numerous and ineffable. The man forced to kneel before her deserved his fate, even as she trembled in her chair from the sentence she'd just meted out. The looming figure of Andraste overhead did little to assuage her feelings of guilt and remorse. If there had been any other way…

No.

Erimond had the blood of hundreds, if not thousands, of innocents on his hands. She could not stomach the idea of his one day being free again to spread his corruption any more than she could stand the notion of making him Tranquil which - to her horror - a few of the mages had suggested. At least death would be swift, and she would not stoop to Erimond's level by handing down a fate that was so ghoulishly abhorrent to her that she could yet taste the bile in her throat when she imagined it.

Evelyn sent a silent prayer to the Maker to show but that one mercy on the creature whose retreating back momentarily eclipsed the light flooding in from the doors at the end of the hall. It was a bright, sunny day at Skyhold, and yet it felt like a storm cloud hung over her.

"Lady Inquisitor, might I bring up a minor issue concerning the Ferelden and Orlesian peace talks?" Josephine's question brought her out of her reverie, and she grasped at the chance to think of anything other than Tranquility and death.

* * *

Cullen did not think the hall would be so crowded. It was stifling. It didn't help that he was nervously shifting about, his dress armor suddenly too tight, and the weight of his sword abruptly too heavy on his hip. He balked, unsure of himself. He could face down a horde of demons, dodge the snapping jaws of a dragon, and yet he could not do this one simple task? Cullen, you bloody coward.

His gaze settled on Evelyn, drawn to her as if by magic. While nerves caused his hands to tremble and a cold sweat to break out on his back, his eyes carefully assessed her body language. The skill had come in handy on numerous occasions in his long, learned past. Her brow was drawn in concentration, but she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. Her shoulders were slumped - sadness and guilt prevailed. He hated it. He hated seeing her this way and yet he knew that it was the necessity of command. It was not always easy to do the right thing.

Exactly. The right thing. That's what he had to do. He'd put this off for long enough, hiding behind the Lyrium, the war, and his own cowardice. Finally, he'd realized that now was the time. If they set out tomorrow for the Arbor Wilds and didn't return, he would regret this forever, and that was a reality he simply was not willing to face.

Drawing on his stubborn streak and taking in a deep breath, Cullen moved forward through the crowd. This would not be easy, but it was what he wanted - more than anything. His steps took him out of the lurking darkness of the archway and carried him toward her. She was the light that would bring him out of the darkness, and he would make her understand. He would have her know of his devotion.

The ringing of steel, crisp and clear, reverberated throughout the long hall, bringing Evelyn's conversation with Josephine to a sudden halt. All eyes, including hers, lay directly on Cullen who had just drawn his sword and stood before her where she sat on the throne. His dress armor lit up brilliantly at the light cast from the stained glass in front of him, reminding Evelyn of descriptions on brave, shining knights from children's stories.

"My Lady Inquisitor," He began. She turned fully in her seat to face him, wondering what it was he needed to say. Had he disagreed with her judgment? No. His expression wasn't upset or even irritated. He seemed almost...pensive.

"Evelyn Trevelyan."

She sat perfectly still. He'd never uttered her name like that before. She'd never thought to hear such love and uncertainty in his voice all at once, and Evelyn was immediately concerned, though she dared not rise. Cullen had something to say, and she would hear it.

Cullen dropped to one knee, resting the point of his sword on the stone floor. His hands clasped over its hilt, fingers twining together as she'd seen them do so often when he would enter the chapel to pray.

The occupants of the room collectively began to murmur their speculations. The Commander was never one for showmanship or pomp, yet he knelt before the Inquisitor as if reenacting a scene from a fairy tale. He blessedly did not hear them, however, and that gave him the courage he needed to press on. Cullen felt sweat bead on his brow, and fervently hoped she did not see his hands shaking on his blade.

Sending a silent prayer to the Maker, he asked that he would be forgiven for swearing his devotion to a woman he knew to be just as beautiful, courageous, and passionate as Andraste had ever been. When he had finished, he wet his lips, and began to tell Evelyn just how much love and faith he had for her.

" _O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Guide me through the blackest nights_

_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_

_Make me to rest in the warmest places._

_O Creator, see me kneel:_

_For I walk only where she would bid me..."_

Cullen's eyes rose to meet hers as he continued, holding her gaze even as she trembled. Maker, she thought helplessly, why was he changing the words?

" _...stand only in places she has blessed_

_Sing only the words she places in my throat_

_My Maker, know my heart_

_Take from me a life of sorrow_

_Lift me from a world of pain_

_Judge me worthy of her endless pride._

_My Creator, judge me whole:_

_Find me well within her grace_

_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed_

_Tell me I have sung to her approval._

_O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Seat me by her side in death_

_Make me one within her glory_

_And let the world once more see her favor._

_For she is the fire at the heart of the world_

_And comfort is only hers to give."_

When Cullen had finished, Evelyn had already risen and stood before him, searching his gaze for any indication as to what this was all about. It was so out of character it was worrisome, and yet the gesture was so sweet and kind that she felt conflicted.

That's when she noticed his hand move, palm tipped upward as he offered it to her. Something caught the light, and were it not for the  _hundreds_  of eyes watching them, she'd have collapsed to her knees at the sight of the small, delicate little ring centered on the dark leather of his glove.

"Would you," he began sheepishly, clearing his throat so his voice was a bit stronger. "Would you do me the honor of allowing me to be your husband?"

Evelyn's smile outshone even the brightness of the sun as she knelt down before him and nodded, not trusting her voice to carry her words of love and adoration nearly as well as she wanted it to. Instead, she allowed Cullen to take her hands in his own and place a kiss to her knuckles before slipping the ring onto her finger.

He had just blasphemed through an entire portion of the Chant of Light.

She wasn't even angry.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wonderful comments, everyone! ;) We see a bit more tooth from Evelyn in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy. Also, I've been up to no good. If you've seen my teaser for the sequel to this story, awesome! If you have not seen it, please visit my profile to check it out. It's titled Enduring Knight: Gods of the Abyss.

In the wee hours of the morning, the courtyard was shrouded in fog. Cullen had gathered all of Evelyn's inner circle together to discuss their travel plans. Their expedition would look and function much the same as it had when they'd moved on Adamant, though perhaps a bit less hurried and with a great deal more soldiers to look after. Frankly, though Cullen cared little for the man, he was pleased Gaspard was to arrive with his Chevaliers and join them to the Arbor Wilds. To say that he was surprised by Celene and Gaspard's generosity on the matter was accurate, and it grew greater still when a single unit of Fereldan soldiers appeared with a unit of archers from Gwaren the night before. Leliana had briefly announced their arrival along with apologies from King Alistair that he himself could not join their campaign, though she didn't stay long. It had been, after all, a very busy day for all of them, but the Commander and the Inquisitor doubly so.

He smiled to himself as he vaulted into his saddle, remembering Evelyn's vehement nod to his proposal. She had looked at him with such vast adoration that he felt certain he would weep with joy.

Cullen Rutherford did  _not_ cry.

She had agreed to marry  _him,_ wonder of wonders, and he would do his damndest to be worthy of her pledge, to deserve the role of her husband. First, however, they needed to survive the Arbor Wilds, defeat Corypheus, and pummel that jackass Samson into the next age like he deserved. If Cullen had his way, the bastard wouldn't survive their next encounter.

"You allowed our lovely Inquisitor out of bed this morning, did you not?"

Cullen rolled his eyes, turning his head to see Dorian smirking at him in that way that meant the mage was seeking to nettle him.

Two could play at that game.

"Of course I did." His easy, knowing smile was all the mage needed to draw his own conclusions.

Dorian's mustache twitched. "You southerners. You're positively barbarous to your women." He paused, devilish smile showing his perfectly white teeth. "And to your men?"

Cullen laughed, covering his mouth with a closed fist. "Afraid you're going to have to ask someone so inclined to give you more information on that account."

"Pity," the mage sighed dramatically. "What I wouldn't give for you to change preferences for just one night."

"Sounds like a wish you'll have to make to your fairy god mother."

"Solas? No. He'll only lecture me again about the virtues of thinking of more than myself. That's a terribly dull pastime, you know. I never get bored when staring into a mirror."

" _Gentleman_ ," Cassandra spoke stiffly, riding up to them on her own steely-gray mount. "Time to pick up the Inquisitor."

* * *

 

By the time Evelyn heard the approaching hoofbeats of at least two dozen horses, she'd already given her father a teary farewell and was now looking upon Kara with both pride and a fair touch of sorrow. She'd grown incredibly fond of the young woman Cullen had rescued those few years ago from the Hinterlands, and now that she was older, she wished to further her studies.

Unfortunately, the mages within the Inquisition had very little time to devote to Kara's needs, and Evelyn had thus far been trying to supplement the tomes and intermittent knowledge the girl obtained, with little success. Eventually, Evelyn had decided that perhaps she should bring up the subject of moving Kara to Ostwick and the remaining Circle there, if only for a scholarly benefit. She had shown great aptitude for elemental magic, and Evelyn knew three mages personally who would be incredible tutors.

She simply had not known how Kara would react to Evelyn suggesting she go back to a Circle, given her outright censure of them when they had first met. She had been surprised, however, when she had agreed, and appeared almost excited.

So it was now that Evelyn spoke words of encouragement to Kara while her adopted mother and siblings finished packing their wagon. They were going with her as well, and Lord Trevelyan had assured them that they would be welcome in his home as any other.

He was also leaving, both to accompany Kara's family and to return home to Evelyn's mother and brother, who had managed the Circle while he aided the Inquisition. Peter had expressed an interest in accompanying him, much to her surprise, but she guessed his desire sprang from Peter's protective nature, as the last time her father had set out, they'd almost lost him.

While her brother and father never really saw eye to eye on much of anything, and Peter tried his damndest not to look like he cared, it was quite obvious that losing their father would probably affect him most deeply. They'd been close when Peter was younger, perhaps closer still when Aaron and Edward had left for Templar training.

"I'll be fine," Lord Trevelyan said. "You and Hawke go deal with the Red Templars and find Aaron. We can speak more afterward if you still want to come back home."

Peter only nodded, murmuring something else that she could not quite hear over the sound of her myriad of companions now entering the small village that sat at the foot of the mountain where Skyhold stood. At the front of the group rode Cullen and Cassandra, both looking for all of Thedas like they were trying to avoid listening to Varric and Dorian's conversation, which was most assuredly ten shades of inappropriate.

"Are you really going to marry him?" Kara asked from beside her, drawing Evelyn's attention away from Cullen and back to the girl who had grown from a leggy youth to a young woman in just a few short years.

"Yes," she replied, "I am."

"Good," Kara smiled. "You're both too nice to be married to someone else."

Evelyn chuckled at that. "Oh? Who else would I be married to?"

Kara covered her mouth with her hand as she sniggered. "Varric."

At that, the Inquisitor burst into laughter. "I dread that I should come between a dwarf and his crossbow. That would be an unhappy marriage, indeed."

The two of them dissolved into giggles, not noticing Cullen's approach until he nudged Kara with his elbow and wrapped an arm around Evelyn.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," they both answered, then began to laugh again.

"Commander Cullen," Lord Trevelyan's voice stifled their laughter, though just barely as Evelyn's father joined their little group. He extended a hand to Cullen, which the Commander immediately shook with an incline of his head. "I trust you'll take care of Evelyn while I'm gone."

"Of course, Ser."

"And I expect to see you both in Ostwick when this mess is over." He eyed them for a moment before smiling at his daughter. "Your mother will likely send threatening letters to all of your advisers until she meets Cullen in person, so try to be quick about it."

A jest, Evelyn knew, though likely not the bit about her mother, who could be extremely bull-headed when the mood struck her. She flashed a smile at Adair. "No pressure, of course. I'm sure the Inquisition will just waltz in and defeat the Red Templars, take care of the corrupted Lyrium, and deal with Corypheus all in one go."

Cullen snorted. "Wouldn't  _that_  be something?"

Adair Trevelyan smiled again, though his mood sobered somewhat. "Be careful. I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Papa."

* * *

 

Cullen cocked his head to the side, trying to decipher what Evelyn and Peter were going on about a few feet behind he and Cassandra. His eavesdropping must have been appallingly apparent, for when he glanced over at her, Cassandra's brow was raised questioningly at him, a smirk trying to find its way to her lips.

"You have never heard the Ostwickan dialect before?"

He was embarrassed to admit that he had not, even more so that he hadn't even realized Evelyn spoke any other language than Common Imperial.

"I would not feel so bad," she continued. "The Inquisitor tries very hard to ensure her accent is undetectable, and believes that speaking openly in a foreign language is disrespectful to those around her who cannot understand the conversation."

The sensibility of that statement was undeniable. "Can you comprehend it?" He knew from experience that Cassandra was versed in a few different languages, for such was part of her training as a Seeker.

"Bits and pieces, though Ostwickan is a bit hard to follow. It is very...sing-songy."

Cullen glanced over his shoulder again at the siblings, tuning an ear to the foreign words he couldn't possibly understand if he tried, and found Cassandra was correct on that point. Whereas Imperial was blunt, and spoken from the front of the mouth, it seemed Ostwickan was spoken from the middle of the pallet, and the tone of voice rose and fell in such a way that it did sound very much like a song. It also sounded about as complicated as Orlesian.

Evelyn caught his eye, flushing in embarrassment before spurring her horse to come ride beside him. "I'm sorry," she began, still red-faced with traces of her accent still lingering in her speech. "Peter and I were discussing Aaron."

Cullen smiled, trying to hide his amusement at her entirely unnecessary apology, then stiffened visibly in his saddle at the mention of Evelyn's traitorous brother. He certainly hadn't forgotten the cur, but he and Evelyn had not spoken one word about the possibility that he might be with the Templars in the Arbor Wilds.

"You think he'll be there?"

She nodded, lost in thought a moment before she replied. "Yes. He has nowhere else to go. He'd have been thrown out of Ostwick, and he's never been one to strike out on his own, so we think he would have gone with them."

From the way her voice wavered, Cullen could tell Evelyn was struggling to maintain her composure. Obviously her brother, though an incomprehensible ass, was important to her.

"Perhaps I could convince him to return with us. He doesn't have to be with them. He really isn't like  _that_ and-"

"Evelyn." Cullen's interruption was quiet, but firm as he tried to drive images of the day he'd found her made Tranquil in that cesspit of a keep from his mind. If it weren't for Aaron, she'd likely not have suffered that indignity, nor the pain of it, and Cullen was determined to pay him back tenfold for his treachery. "Aaron made his choice. He would rather sacrifice you, and all the other mages of Thedas, simply for his peace of mind. Do you honestly believe he's become more rational after all this time with Corypheus' fanatics?"

He hated how her shoulders slumped in defeat at his words, but she needed to see reason. While Cullen loved Evelyn's generous and gentle spirit, he knew that in this regard, she had to harden her heart. Aaron was most certainly past the point of no return, and she needed to be ready to face that reality.

"You're right," she sighed, drawing her mount closer so that her leg brushed against his. A small point of contact, but it was nonetheless reassuring for her. "It's just difficult to come to terms with it."

It took four more days for the Inquisition to reach the Arbor Wilds, and another to find a suitable base camp. All the while their numbers were harried by the Red Templars, but they were so few that the rebels were easily beaten back.

Cullen was damn near horrified at their lack of common sense, even more so at the way they recklessly rushed in to pick off a few of the Inquisition's people, as if such a small victory would balance the risk. Thanks to his quick thinking and heavy-handed training, the Inquisition had lost not a single soldier to the Templar's attacks.

"They're stupid - bloody stupid," Cullen grumbled to himself as he pored over maps of the region with Gaspard, whom they had met on the road. Both men seemed confused by the sheer lack of coordination they were facing in the opposition, and generally believed it to be some strange strategy to catch their armies off-guard.

"Leliana's scouts are reporting that both Corypheus and Samson are in the area," Evelyn read from a report in her hand. Cassandra's shrewd, cat-like eyes viewed another report detailing the same.

"They are due south, in the ravine and on the other side of the river. Apparently it is too deep to navigation foot or horseback, but there is one crossing, and it is there the bulk of the Templars remain. Perhaps the parties we have seen thus far have been deserters."

"That's certainly possible," Gaspard mused, marking off the location of the shallow crossing on his map.

Cullen shook his head. "Unlikely. They're addicted to Lyrium. They wouldn't stray far from a reliable source unless they had a death wish."

"So you think Corypheus is sending them out here on a whim? So few?" Evelyn asked patiently.

"I believe he's trying to fake us out, as Gaspard and I gathered before, or distract us from his goal. All of the attacks have originated from the North, yet from Leliana's reports, Corypheus and Samson are both camped in the opposite direction."

"How do you suggest we approach this, then, if we're more or less surrounded?" Evelyn asked. "I suppose we could split our forces."

Cullen nodded. "That is what I was thinking. We can leave the archers from Gwaren here along with a unit of Inquisition soldiers. That should be more than enough to deal with the small parties we've encountered. Gaspard and I will take the rest of the army south, split up here," he said, splaying two fingers on the map near the river, "and surround them."

Gaspard nodded. "Because they are a reasonably small force, the prudent thing to do would be to surround them and cut off their supply lines. That will also weaken the raiding parties, and make dealing with them easier here."

"The only thing I'm worried about," Cullen hummed, thumbing the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully, "is the Elven ruin. Obviously they haven't been able to get inside yet, but I have a feeling once his men begin to report that we're on the move in their direction, he'll redouble his efforts to get in before we reach him."

Evelyn caught Cullen's gaze across the map. "So," she said with a small smile, "we'll just have to be faster than they are."

"Easier said than done, Inquisitor." Gaspard frowned. "How do you propose we run a hundred horses through this dense jungle to beat Corypheus' informants? That's impossible and dangerous, unless you think you can simply snap your fingers and move the trees out of the way."

"You forget, Grand Duke, that  _I_  have mages."

* * *

 

Though few in number, the mages gifted with elemental magic were able to clear a path for the Inquisition's mounted units, who then set off at breakneck speed to intercept Corypheus' informants and surprise the bulk of his army where it loitered in front of the temple. Cullen was among them, and had instructed Evelyn and her circle to stay behind until he'd sent a rider back telling them the camp had been secured.

She did not like the idea one bit.

While she knew Cullen was only concerned for her well-being, she was keen to remind him that she was hale and perfectly capable of joining their forces at the front. He'd heard none of it, vexing her so thoroughly that now she waited for his rider while pacing the length of their encampment, glaring at the dense forest before her.

"I could always burn it down for you," came Hawke's voice, rousing Evelyn from the inner tirade she was having with Cullen's bossy, arrogant, self-serving spectre.

The Inquisitor turned, her expression softening a bit as she sighed. Some of the tension left her shoulders, but she was still anxious and irritated. "No. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Any sign?"

"Not yet, though it's past the time frame we'd agreed upon. I've half a mind to go in anyway - to the Void with Cullen's instructions!"

The Champion grinned. "Well, why not?"

"Because if I botch this, then we're all screwed, and I'm not quite  _that_  upset."

"Shame. You know I'm  _all_  about breaking rules and not doing what I'm told."

Evelyn laughed. "Well, that's worked out for you. If I tried, I'm sure something would go horribly awry."

Hawke flicked her fingers at Evelyn in a dismissive gesture. "Don't say shit like that about yourself. You're plenty capable of causing a ruckus."

Evelyn inclined her head, regarding Hawke out of the corner of her eye. "You want me to cause a ruckus?"

"I am  _extremely_ bored, but I never asked you a thing," she replied with a shrug, and the Inquisitor sighed.

It was past the time Cullen had outlined, and now that worry for him had begun to compound her frustration at being left behind, Evelyn found her resolve waning. It took but a few more moments of thought, staring down the empty clearing before she nodded, turning on her heel toward her mount while tossing a "come on!" over her shoulder.

* * *

 

"Bull's eye!" Varric called, high-fiving Hawke as the dwarf pegged a Red Templar from across the roaring river - in the ass.

The yelp from the man across the way was wholly undignified, and as he danced about trying to pry the offending bolt from his rear, Evelyn found herself growing impatient. They were still following the path the mages had cleared for the Inquisition, but so far they'd seen no rider Cullen promised - only Red Templars. It didn't bode well, and she was sure Hawke and Varric were making light of their predicament in order to spare her the worry. Unfortunately, it wasn't working.

"Let's keep moving!" she called, hurrying along the makeshift roadway.

"Evelyn, they're probably still fighting. You know Cullen, he can't be bothered to do anything by halves. Maker, he's probably hunting down any possibly dangerous wildlife before he summons you."

Peter's words were not entirely exaggerated, but if Cullen made the damn plan, he wouldn't just deviate from it on a whim. Something was going on, and her intuition was practically screaming at her to get a bloody move on.

She'd been right to leave when she did.

As they approached the river crossing, she saw immediately that the fight was still being waged, and though the Inquisition's forces were pushing the Templars back, it was a slow and hard fought advantage against the hulking Red Lyrium brutes that blocked the way. Frantically, Evelyn's eyes searched the field until they landed on the familiar lion helm and dark armor. The tension in her shoulders instantly relaxed, and she blew out a breath while she assessed the situation. Behind the Behemoths, the temple doors stood closed, which meant that Corypheus was not in the area, and neither was Samson.

Bully for the Inquisition, that, though now they needed to push through and get to the eluvian only that much faster. She lead her companions down the small embankment and across the shallow portion of the river where they joined the fray. Still unsure of the stability of her power, she hung back, healing those that fell and dispelling any harmful magics the Red Templars managed to use.

Her passive presence ended, however, when one of the Behemoths backed Cullen up against an entire unit of Red Templars, separating him from the rest of the Inquisition's forces but for two men. They were clearly outnumbered, and when the Behemoth moved to strike, Evelyn felt as if all of the breath had at once left her lungs.

Sparing no thought to whether she could or couldn't do it, she flung out her hands and pushed with everything that she had. It seemed in slow motion when she watched the Behemoth fly backward, his crystalline body splintering apart against the wall of the Temple.

Cullen paused to look her way but a moment, then turning to engage the stunned Red Templars behind him. When all was said and done, he looked around the field, assured that their enemies lay dead or on the run, and removed his helm.

Evelyn had never seen him so angry.

He stalked toward her, fury written plainly across his features. When he came to stand before her, she felt her composure waver for just a moment before she squared her shoulders and met his furious gaze equally.

"I asked you to wait until I sent someone!" he thundered, his chest heaving from his earlier exertion.

"If I hadn't come, you'd likely be dead!" she argued in return, placing her hands on her hips. Her voice caught on the dreaded word "dead", and she sensed his hackles lowered a little.

They stared at one another for what seemed like forever, neither backing down, and both thinking they were in the right.

Cullen was the first to speak. "You're alright?"

"Of course I am," Evelyn snapped, before sighing deeply. "And you?" She stepped forward, splaying her fingers against his breastplate to send a wave of healing energy over his body.

He didn't wait for the spell, simply taking her hand and pulling her bodily toward him, hugging her to his filthy, bloodstained armor. "I'm fine." He pulled away a moment to look her over, as if to be sure she was speaking the truth, before placing a kiss to the Chantry brand on her forehead.

"Cullen?"

"Hm?" He pulled away again, this time surprised when Evelyn snagged the lip of his armor at his neck to pull him down to her level. Eye to eye now, she said, "I swear, if you  _ever_  scare me like that again, I'm going to…" She really had no idea what she was going to do to him, but it would be bad, and he'd regret it, she was sure. For the moment, however, she simply settled for pressing her lips against his, her arms winding around his neck to bring him closer. Cullen banded his arms around her in turn, tongue sweeping into her mouth as he assured himself that she was well, and alive, and positively not Tranquil.

Only the annoyed clearing of a throat gave them pause, and when they looked up, Peter was rolling his eyes heavenward. "Look, I know the saying 'you go to war to prepare for marriage' is really fitting right now, but the scouts have the temple doors open. We should probably, you know, do what we came here to do." He jerked his thumb behind him to indicate the portal, and about a hundred pairs of eyes pretending not to watch them.

Cullen cleared his throat. "Of course. Let's get moving." He gave Evelyn's hand a quick squeeze before replacing his helm, and the two of them made their way to the doorway.

Once inside Evelyn felt her stomach plummet as she recognized both Samson and Corypheus' voices. Here she'd thought they had taken the advantage from the Darkspawn Magister, but she'd been mistaken, and horribly so. Though Cullen, much to her relief, didn't seem phased by this at all. His pace quickened through the lengthy archway and his steps were light despite his armor. Perhaps he could teach her to move like that with a hundred pounds of noisy extra weight someday.

Shaking her head to clear useless thoughts, she tried to regain her focus on the task at hand, walking quietly next to Cullen and Varric as they peered around the corner of the entrance and into the small courtyard below. Evelyn frowned, her brows furrowing as she strained to hear Corypheus, who was carelessly tossing a lithe body out of his path. Samson stood beside him, his blade naked and covered in blood. All around them lay bodies, elves and Red Templars alike, though it appeared as if the Templars had suffered far greater casualties.

"These arrows are an old design," Peter whispered from beside Varric and Bull. " _Very_  old."

One elf stood before the imposing duo looking tense, but unfrightened. Evelyn admired his fortitude, for were she in the same position, she'd have certainly looked nervous. He was speaking what sounded like Dalish, and she would give anything to understand the conversation. Looking around at her companions, her eyes first landed on Sera.

No help there.

She then looked for Solas, but the mage was strangely absent. Assuming he'd remained to tend to their wounded outside in the deserted Templar camp with Vivienne, Evelyn thought nothing of it.

"Do you know what he's saying?" she mouthed to Dorian, who nodded once, opening his mouth to speak before Lady Morrigan practically materialized beside them.

"He seeks the Well of Sorrows," she said plainly.

"What? I thought you said he was after an eluvian."

"Well, I am certainly not omnipotent. If the creature says it's after the Well of Sorrows, then that's what it desires. Perhaps the Well  _is_  an eluvian, but we shall never find out if we remain here."

Cullen's breath stirred the fine hairs on the back of Evelyn's neck when he next spoke. "There are no more of his men in the surrounding area. What we see is all that's left perha-"

"Be honored!" bellowed Corypheus from below.

The Templars at his side stirred, stances shifting subtly to attack when the creature advanced on the lone elf who still seemed rather nonplussed. Backing away, he moved behind two enormous statues as he stepped onto a low bridge, his eyes never once leaving Corypheus. As the Magister closed the distance between them, drawing nearer to the statues, the stone carvings began to glow.

"Witness death at the hands of a new god!" he called once more.

Varric rolled his eyes. "This schtick again?"

Hawke almost followed with a reply, when suddenly the light from the statues grew so bright that Evelyn had to shield her eyes. Before them, something unexpected happened. The light grew, enveloping and holding Corypheus within it. They looked on in disbelief when the Magister's blighted skin burned and fell away, revealing bone and muscle, and all at once the light reached its brightest intensity, and what remained of Corypheus' body exploded in an intense, white heat.

"What in the-?" Cullen breathed, arm loosening from where it had wrapped instinctively around Evelyn's shoulders.

They moved below carefully to survey the damage, watching as Samson and the remaining Templars chased the elf through the doors on the opposite end of the bridge. Had Corypheus just met his end? Could this really be it?

Their advantage proved short-lived, however. Their party had only made it as far as the statues, now silent and dark, when they heard a low, guttural sound echo off the stone walls behind them. A look passed between Hawke and Varric as all eyes fell onto the body of a Grey Warden, head tucked to his chest and on his knees. He twitched, blood beginning to stream from his nose and eyes.

"Guys…" Peter warned, taking a step back.

The Warden's head snapped backward, blood, dark and gelatinous, spewed from his mouth.

"Shit, Evie," Cullen said firmly, catching her eye from where she stood transfixed by the transformation happening before her. "Get across that bridge!"

"But-"

"Go! Now!"

From the Warden's rapidly liquefying body, a new being was forming. Gore coalesced and strengthened into a new structure, one that appeared - to their horror - exactly like Corypheus.

Cullen gave Evelyn a shove, and the Inquisitor needed no more prodding as she gathered their party and fled across the bridge. Inquisition soldiers filed into the entry, surrounding the forming creature as Cullen remained to shout orders. Above his voice, a screech echoed down and around them from the treetops.

Like something from a nightmare, the dragon Corypheus had used to annihilate Haven - the same that harried them at Adamant - swept down from the forest canopy. Intent on stopping their advance into the temple proper, the beast opened its blackened maw, dragonfire sparking at the back of its throat.

"The door!" Dorrian called, quickly doubling back with Peter once they had all slipped through the portal to close the massive doors. They'd succeeded just in time, a scorchingly hot blast of air barely slipping through the crack as the heavy metal swung shut with a resounding thud.

"Cullen!" Evelyn called, hurrying to the door, hands pressing against it as if she could somehow move the massive thing. Maker, he was out there with that  _thing_  - and Corypheus! How in the Blighted world did the Magister come back? They'd seen him die! If he could immortalize himself in such a way, how was Cullen, not to mention the rest of their soldiers, supposed to thwart him? How were they supposed to survive?

She felt panic grip her heart as firmly and surely as a fist.

"He's fine," Peter spoke gently, turning her away from the door. "You know the Commander. He's notoriously difficult to kill."

Evelyn frowned, worry drawing a crease between her brows. Her heart quivered with the notion that Cullen might be hurt, or worse, but her head listened to Peter's words and took hold. She could not afford to dissolve into an anxious mess now. They had come here for a reason.

She pressed her fingers against the sides of her nose, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Relax, she told herself. If Cullen had died, she would know - she was certain - and he would want her to get on with this so they could return home to Skyhold. Taking a moment, she dropped her hands and nodded at her brother, willing the nervous jitter in her limbs to subside.

"You're right." Opening her eyes, she spared a glance around, seeing neither hide nor hair of Samson or the men he'd taken with him. They were in yet another courtyard, though this seemed far more closed in and decorative. The statues here were old, but well taken care of, and she felt almost as if she were intruding in someone's home. "This place seems...lived-in."

"Good thing I'm not the only one feelin' that," Varric murmured, glancing up and around at the scenery. "Those elves we saw back there, think they live here?"

"Likely," she murmured.

"Here," came Morrigan's calm and quiet voice, and for a moment Evelyn envied her the detachment she so often seemed to feel. The woman motioned Evelyn over, Varric and Dorian on her heels, and the three of them rounded a small, raised platform. In the middle sat a rock. It appeared quite ordinary at first, but at second glance one could just barely make out the weathered, faded lettering carved into the stoney surface. Squinting her eyes at it, Evelyn leaned in.

"Is that in Elven?," she asked. "I only know a little."

Morrigan nodded, running a finger along one of the indentations. Tracing the characters with the pad of a finger was perhaps the only way to identify many of the words. "It is, and I know precious little as well, but…" she cocked her head, frowning a moment. "...enough.

"I assume that this, being a temple dedicated to Mythal, would have received all manner of petitioners and those vying to seek the Goddesses' favor." Morrigan stepped to the side as she said this, and the beautifully carved tile beneath her feet began to glow. "The temple's magic is still quite strong. I imagine this pathway here serves as a way for those seeking entry to display their piety."

Evelyn glanced around, noting the tiles such as the one where Morrigan stood only spanned a few feet here and there. "A pathway, you say?"

"Tis all I could think to call it."

Evelyn watched the space around the tiles carefully, focusing her magic a bit until she could-

Ah, there it was!

Shadows, the kind she had grown used to seeing in Skyhold, meandered about the courtyard. They crawled along the walls, scaled the steps, and flit to and fro beneath the shade of the trees. Several, however, stood where she was standing, and she paid close attention to their path as they crossed over the ornately tiled floor. Mimicking the steps she had seen, she crossed over the tile where Morrigan stood, and stepped onto the one directly next to it. It too lit up, and the Inquisitor, despite her concern for her brave commander, smiled as she seemed to have figured out Mythal's little puzzle.

* * *

 

Morrigan had gone bonkers. That was all Evelyn could think when she'd agreed to leave the Well of Sorrows be and comply with the elf, Abelas', terms. The very moment she'd done so, Abelas had said that the Well needed to be destroyed. Thinking nothing of his comment, because she certainly didn't need anything from the Well, Evelyn had been completely taken by surprise at Morrigan's insistence that the Well remain intact.

Abelas had fled the room, and Morrigan had gone after him in an attempt to stop him. Fearing the mage would get herself killed or run into the Red Templars unaided, Peter and Hawke rushed after the woman.

Fortunately, Morrigan's brash behavior didn't negatively color their reception, and Evelyn and the rest of her party were lead through the depths of the temple - in and out of walls, mazes, and other well-hidden secrets. Along the way they'd seen Samson's men, the first sign of their presence since they'd followed them in at the bridge.

They were killing everyone in sight. The elven sentinels Evelyn had bypassed by showing respect to their goddess were falling at Samson's feet as he unfeelingly felled each and every one that stood in his way. She tried to ignore the carnage and focus, but she could not deny the angry stirring in her gut. The killing was senseless. It served no purpose but to anger the elves and further Corypheus' agenda. Was Samson so blind that he could not see the creature would kill them all? If he thought that he would be spared when his "new god" took over, he would be mistaken. Evelyn did not see Corypheus as the type to share spoils or power.

Then there was the matter of his meddling with her family. At the mere thought, she felt heat rise in her cheeks and pound in her blood, coiling in her gut like a snake ready to strike. Samson's scheming had nearly killed her father, and he'd lured her brother to the Red Templars by playing on his weak mind and faulty logic. She well understood her brother's role in her capture and what had happened to her, but Aaron's motivation arose from fear, not hatred, and that made all the difference to her.

Fear she understood. Fear was a natural response to something that was not easily comprehended. Maker, that was the exact reason most non-magic users despised magic. They could not understand its origins or its purpose and labeled it as evil - a sign of demons and death. The Chantry had played well on that fear, instilling within their Templars not only a sense of superiority, but a fear of magic. Samson, however, did not fear magic. She did not even think he held much opinion of mages one way or another. He was simply a grasping, evil man who would sell his own soul to a demon for a taste of Lyrium.

Cullen had explained much about his old associate on their journey, and that afforded Evelyn insight to the man's machinations, though it did not in any way improve her opinion of him. In fact, it only served to stoke the angry feeling burning low in her gut. She had little time to dwell on that sensation, however, because their guide had lead them through a set of worn wooden doors and out into the open air.

A lush and overgrown garden sprawled skyward before them, and the sounds of a hundred different kinds of birds echoed cheerily off the Temple's stone walls.

"The Well of Sorrows!" Evelyn breathed, focusing across the space to a large circular pool set in a small hill atop a long column of stairs. Hurrying to the bannister, she leaned over to survey the garden below, only to be met with the sight of Samson's men. They'd fought their way through the last chamber, it seemed, and now gutted and murdered the remaining elves seeking to protect this sacred place.

Her fingers tightened on the banister a moment, eyes narrowing on Samson's smug expression as he watched the innocents before him die.

"That bastard," she growled, earning a raised brow from Varric.

"Sunshine?" he asked, "You gonna be alright?"

"When he's dead."

Cassandra nodded, taking Evelyn's anger in stride. She suspected some reaction from Evelyn once again facing the man responsible for making her Tranquil, and she was silently pleased that it was anger. Anger was a tool. One could use it to their advantage, and she would help Evelyn in this endeavor in any way she could, for she had no compunctions about killing Corypheus' general.

"Come then," the Seeker spoke firmly, inclining her head toward a set of stairs leading down into the garden. "Let us go kill that creature and take our leave of this place."

* * *

 

Hawke lamented the fact that they had gone chasing after a shapeshifting mage, one who, to her great irritation, chose the form of a bird to go tearing after that elf. Neither she nor Peter had wings, so they were resigned to picking their way through the darkened and maze-like corridors of the temple, unsure of where they were and where exactly they were going.

"Hopefully if we just keep heading in this direction we'll run into  _something_ ," he said, moving along at a quick pace despite the gloomy atmosphere.

"This Well, what do you think it really- oof!" Hawke stumbled over something, knees landing in something that quickly seeped into her leggings. "What the-?"

She held up a hand, summoning fire despite the drain to her mana, and recoiled from the body she'd barreled over and the pool of blood she'd disturbed eking out from beneath it.

"A Red Templar," Peter observed quietly, having turned around to giver her a hand up. "Hard to believe they penetrated the temple's defenses this far."

"Samson is one ambitious prick, I'll give him that," she grumbled, taking stock of the damage. So many dead here, and for what?

"Hello?"

The voice echoed from in front of them and the pair spun at once to face it. Though Hawke's mage fire burned brightly, the light only penetrated the murky blackness of the room so far. Silently knocking an arrow, Peter shifted his weight, stepping slightly away from Hawke and out of the light.

"Who's there!" Peter called, drawing back on the string, arm and fingers tensing.

"Peter?" the voice echoed back, seeming relieved and much closer.

Hawke's eyes shifted between Peter and where the voice was coming from, confused, though she stood rooted to the spot. Peter seemed to know this person, or at least recognize their voice. It probably wouldn't do to go throwing fireballs at them. Peter, however, looked for all the world like someone had just pissed in his morning coffee.

"Aaron," was all the Seeker said back. It wasn't a question, and it held no emotional cadence. It was a flat observation despite the curl of his upper lip that Hawke could plainly see.

Peter had heard all he needed to know of his brother's trespasses from Evelyn, who seemed to still believe the man was worth saving. Peter held no such opinion. What kind of man lead his kin into a trap, and saw his own sister mentally castrated in front of his eyes while thinking he was doing  _good_?

"Thank the Maker!" Hawke heard the footsteps hurrying toward her now, Peter's brother drawn to the light more quickly now that he thought he knew the source. "I've been wandering down here for hours. I got separated from Samson." He stepped into the light, eyes widening in momentary panic at the sight of Hawke.

Aaron even had the gall to address Peter as if he didn't know what happened in the Exalted Plains. He wondered, momentarily, what sort of reception Aaron was expecting. Surely the man wasn't fool enough to think he'd be welcome. "What are you doing here?"

Peter was being far nicer than he ought to have been. He should have just killed him, rid the world of his radicalism and hatred and been done with it. While it was perhaps difficult for him to admit, truly, Aaron had become part of Thedas' problem. His brother had become everything he'd hated about the world, and he would see one less dangerous fanatic in the world before more innocents could be harmed.

"I'm here with Samson." Aaron's eyes trembled nervously at Hawke who was standing perfectly still, hand slowly drifting toward his blade. "Brother?"

That was the final straw.

Breathing deeply to shake out his own nerves, Peter let his arrow fly, and it connected with a soft  _thunk_  into Aaron's yielding flesh. Harm his father, Tranquilize his sister,  _and_  threaten Marian? No. Aaron couldn't be trusted any longer. He was not the boy he'd grown up with

A moment later Peter looped his bow over his shoulder, peering down at Aaron's gaping expression. "You," he growled, "are  _no_  brother of mine."

He started walking away, and Marian followed, looking back at the body, arrow stuck cleanly through his throat. "Think you're going to regret that?" she asked.

"No," he replied simply. "He's not a person anymore - not in my eyes."

"Going to tell Evie?"

He paused, mentally chewing it over. "No. Let her think he's still out there somewhere. She has a soft heart for family. While she's upset with Aaron's role in all this, she would find a way to forgive him."

"She's naive."

"She has a good heart."

They walked on for a time, passage curving this way and that, but they encountered no doors. Eventually the silence melted away, however, making room for a pair of voices just ahead.

"You're a demon, you don't oversleep. You don't even sleep. Admit that you were so busy terrorizing Briala that you missed the assault."

"Hey, hey, hey! I've told you how sensitive I am about the demon thing."

"Said yourself you don't know."

"Well if I  _were_  a demon, do you think I'd be having this conversation with you? No. The answer is no. The moment you'd begun to annoy me, I'd have just eaten you."

"I'd like to see you try."

There was a pause. "She went this way!"

"Cullen! You made it inside!" Peter greeted the tired-looking Commander. Beside him hovered Friend, who had seemed to pick up a few more small rocks to add to his odd spirit-body.

Cullen's head shot up at the sound of Peter's voice, body tensing before he was able to recognize his friends in the darkened space.

"Shit," Hawke grumbled as she looked around the chamber. "Back at square one."

Cullen opened his mouth to ask, but Peter shook his head. "We probably got turned around. Evelyn is on her way to the Well by now." He turned to Friend. "You said you know where?"

"Yeah, Through this door."

"You're sure?"

"Would you just shut up and follow me already? We don't have a lot of time."

Hawke, Peter, and Cullen moved to follow Friend, and the Commander filled Peter in on what happened at the bridge. "Corypheus is able to move his soul into other Blighted creatures. He reformed his body completely but he didn't want anything to do with me or the Inquisition. Once he realized where Samson and Evelyn had gone, he called his beast and fled the field." He frowned. "I believe he was intending to come this way, but I have found little evidence so far."

"Where's the rest of the Inquisition?" Hawke asked.

"I sent several men ahead while Friend and I looked around here. There are so many doorways and side passages." Cullen's eyes swept each room they entered out of habit, searching for movement. He found none. Elf and Templar alike lay motionless on the floor, and he felt his worry for Evelyn compound tenfold. "Evelyn went ahead with Cassandra?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, with Varric and Dorian. Samson seemed keen on bypassing the elves to get to the Well before her."

"We need to hurry, then." Cullen picked up into a jog. "Samson is  _no_  pushover."

* * *

 

"Inquisitor," Samson chuckled, turning from the handful of his men still standing to face her. "I'm surprised they still let you out, broken as you are."

Evelyn very nearly betrayed her surprise, willing her features to remain in place. Samson still believed her to be Tranquil? The man truly had been living beneath a rock since his escape from the Dales. Obviously she saw right away the advantage his misinformation gave her, and silently hoped her companions would go along with her ruse.

"It appears the Inquisition still finds a use for me," she replied, stepping a bit closer to the man. In her pocket, the rune Dagna had given her grew hot, as if sensing her proximity to the armor. The enchanter had said all she would need to do was get close to begin to draw away the energy from Samson's armor, and Evelyn could practically feel the tainted buzz of Lyrium undulating around her. How the Templars could stand to be around the stuff when she barely could, she would never know.

"Oh ho, I bet they have," he sneered, "especially that Commander of yours."

Cassandra tensed, but didn't move, bless her. She was waiting to see what Evelyn would do in response. Clenching her fist in anger of Samson's strike against Cullen's character, Evelyn willed herself to remain appearing neutral.

"Perfect, precious Cullen," Samson continued. "The inquisition's golden boy, and yet do any of you really know what kind of man he is? He's just like Teague."

"That's a load of shit!" Dorian snapped, and Evelyn couldn't help but agree as she inched even closer to the disgraced Templar. Just a bit more…

"Is it?" Samson laughed. "Do you even know the man? He turned the other way, knowing mages in his care were being killed, raped, and mutilated. He even supported those who performed the acts, always saying some such nonsense about them not being people - that they couldn't be treated like everyone else. Yet, he seemed to always get the Circle's trust, didn't he? Did his fair share of fucking around with the apprentices, then left them to rot when it suited him. You call Corypheus a monster and yet let that brute in by the front door!"

"Enough," Evelyn spoke, thanking the Maker that her voice held. She was pissed, nails biting red crescents into her palms with the force of her anger.

Samson cocked his head, regarding her a moment out of curiosity and a bit of suspicion. She was close enough now, wasn't she?

"Right. Enough," Samson replied, turning and pacing away from her toward the Well. "You will not reach the Well of Sorrows. The power is mine to hold, and I will give it to Corypheus so that he can walk into the Fade without using your anchor, since you've been so uncooperative." He turned back, walking straight up to Evelyn. "Now I will bring him the Well's power and your head all at once."

Evelyn's hand tightened around the rune, and she finally allowed herself to sneer back at the pretentious lout. "You can try."

She moved quickly, pulling the rune from her pocket to press it firmly against the Red Lyrium crystal at the center of Samson's armor. The rune sparked and crackled, and for a moment Evelyn feared the thing would break before completely draining the Lyrium of its power. Finally, she felt the creepy energy of the Lyrium fade, however, and the shock on Samson's face confirmed the success of Dagna's enchantment.

"Wha-What?" he staggered backward, clutching at the broken crystal at his chest.

"Your first mistake," Evelyn spoke evenly, drawing Samson's attention to her, "was underestimating the Inquisition."

She summoned her energy around her, sending a blow toward the man that sent him sprawling backward. He scrambled to his feet, hand flying to his sword. He did not get the opportunity to draw, however, because Evelyn hit him again, and again, until he was on his back in the shallow creek that ran through the garden.

She narrowed his eyes on his supine form, focusing at once on the Red Lyrium. It still pulsed, still active, but it was no longer providing Samson's armor with the energy it needed. Perhaps she could turn it to her advantage. Evelyn held out one hand over his body, feeling the crystal with her power and beginning to press down on it from above.

"Your second," she continued, pressing harder, "was underestimating  _me_."

She grunted with the effort, but shoved, splintering the crystal and sending the shard spearing painfully throughout Samson's body. He writhed. He begged. He even apologized, but as Evelyn ground the active Lyrium into his veins, poisoning him with the one substance he spent his life chasing after, she did not hear him.

"Evelyn!"

The voice was distant, and it did not sway her from her task. She would see this man dead,  _wanted_  it even, and for the first time in her life she was not disgusted by the notion of killing another human being with her own hands.

Cold pressure pressed against the sides of her face.

"Evelyn!"

The hands shook her gently, and she blinked heavily, feeling herself come to. All around lay the remains of the Templars Samson had lead to the Temple, and her friends stood back, watching her with a mixture of concern and wariness.

"Look at me, beautiful."

Her eyes swung back around in front of her, and she felt her entire body sag in relief. " _Cullen_ "


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting, everyone! I love reading your reactions. Makes my day.  
> In this chapter we see some familiar faces, and set ourselves up for the sequel! Commence suggestive eyebrow waggling.

It was not the least bit surprising to find that Corypheus had been pissed when he'd discovered Morrigan had drank from the Well of Sorrows, and that his chance at obtaining the power he needed to bodily enter the Fade had been stolen from him yet again. While the blow to the Magister was a great victory for the Inquisition, it had come at great cost.

Still reeling from killing Samson, Evelyn had been in no position to assist Abelas when Morrigan had killed him - not that she had expected the woman to resort to such drastic measures to get what she wanted. She had also been in no position to refuse the witch when she explained her reasoning for taking the Well's power for herself. Cullen protested vehemently, as did Cassandra, but in the end, with Corypheus breathing down their necks, their party had decided to simply let the woman have at, and deal with possible damages later.

When they had fled through the eluvian and found their way back to Skyhold, Morrigan had seemed largely unconcerned that she'd earned the Inquisitor's ire, telling Evelyn once more that the power she now wielded would be a great benefit to the Inquisition's cause. She had not seemed to realize that it was not Morrigan's greedy appropriation of elven history and artifacts that the Inquisitor found maddening, but the woman's blithe and couthless murder of Abelas - a man who had done nothing but protect his temple from outsiders, and who had instigated none of the fighting. For the briefest of moments, Evelyn had entertained the notion that Morrigan, though far prettier and more cunning, resembled Samson.

It had not been a favorable comparison for the woman.

Cullen had been consumed by work immediately upon their return to Skyhold, hurriedly scribbling instructions to his men remaining within the Arbor Wilds to retreat and come home. He knew not of their fate, or whether Corypheus deemed it necessary to take care of them after his defeat, and his worry for their forces was only abated by the returning crows dotting the horizon some days later.

For all his time spent working, however, the Commander had made time for his Inquisitor. In the difficult days after Samson's death, Evelyn was consumed with worry - nightmares, regrets, and wishes that she had somehow done things differently - and Cullen assured her that they would pass. He was patient and kind, and didn't seem to even bat an eye when Evelyn confessed that she did not so much regret Samson's death, but that she had been the one to kill him. It wasn't clean, she'd lamented. They could have captured him alive and executed him quickly and painlessly at Skyhold. Instead, in a moment of blind rage, she had made him suffer for everything. She'd poured all of her sorrow over Michael into that final blow, all of her fear for Aaron and her father, and her anger at being so thoroughly violated when she had been made Tranquil.

Cullen had seemed to understand all of this, and if he hadn't, he'd done a marvelous job pretending to.

Weeks had passed since their soldiers returned from the Wilds, and Josephine was once again up to her eyeballs in preparations for receiving two of the most powerful monarchs in Thedas within Skyhold's walls. Utilizing a noble's manor in Jader for the peace talks had fallen through since Corypheus' defeat, and the Inquisition's advisers had decided that remaining in Skyhold would be a far more tactfully sound plan than leaving their fortress during a pivotal moment in their campaign. Thankfully, Celene and Alistair didn't seem to mind travelling the shorter distance, and it was agreed upon by both parties that Skyhold and the surrounding territory was to be considered neutral, and therefore an appropriate place to hold such a meeting.

So it was that Evelyn followed Josephine around rather helplessly, desiring to assist the woman with her preparations, but also unable to grasp the finer details of planning such an event. Evelyn had certainly never thrown a party before, let alone host the Empress of Orlais and the King of Ferelden. One did not receive Kings and Queens in the Circle unless it was a national emergency, and obviously the Templars were the ones to facilitate any such engagements.

"Hold these." It was a short and simple order, though Josephine didn't wait for Evelyn to respond as she shoved two bolts of linen into her arms. The Inquisitor balked at the weight, but was surprised to find she had indeed become stronger since that embarrassing moment in the war room when she could not even hold up a decorative sword properly.

The two women continued on, Josephine utilizing Evelyn as a sort of cart or shelf, and the Inquisitor making small, idle conversation about their guests. She had, of course, undergone some review on the current political atmosphere in both Ferelden and Orlais, but it never hurt to glean information on the more personal goings on of those you were intending to help. Josephine, as always, was ripe with gossip.

"King Alistair is very much loved by his people. It is said he is a rather likable man, if a bit politically daft at time. It is the reason he has kept the former Queen installed within the court, though I hear she is of common blood."

"Queen Anora, you mean?" Evelyn asked, curious as to why Alistair had simply not married the woman. From what she remembered of the Blight, she had made herself a competent ruler even before King Cailan's death, and his lack of interest in the throne was well known.

"Yes. Though she is no longer Queen, she serves as regent, and I have heard that while there was some animosity when Alistair first ascended the throne, he and Anora are now fast friends."

"If she is part of his political cabinet, does she govern property in Ferelden like the Banns?"

"Oh, yes. She has retained her father's holdings in Gwaren, and oversees the Banns there, though she spends much of her time in the palace."

"She seems to be a level-headed and efficient lady," Evelyn mused, thinking she'd be very much obliged to meet the woman. "Is she to come to the summit then?"

Josephine nodded, tutting at a flower arrangement that was off-center and needed far more peonies then were present. "Of course. King Alistair is wise enough to know that having her on hand will help with the arrangements. I also believe he thinks that having a woman as bull-headed as Celene will signal to the Orlesian dignitaries that he is very much serious about this meeting."

"If he is looking for someone bull-headed, then he should have to look no further than his dressing room mirror," a voice lilted nearby.

Evelyn turned to see Leliana regarding them with a fond smile on her face. It appeared that the Spymaster could not wait to see her old friend. Leliana's good humor faded as she looked at Evelyn, however, she knew that the woman had not come to reminisce.

"Inquisitor, a moment?"

Evelyn nodded, divesting herself of Josephine's collection of items to follow Leliana into the Ambassador's office.

"I am so sorry, Evelyn. Let me first express my deepest apologies."

Evelyn frowned, her mind searching for something she should be upset about. Barring the regret she harbored over what had happened with Samson, nothing in particular came to mind.

"Your brother?" Leliana clarified, noting the confusion on Evelyn's face. She reached into her pocket and held up a ring. It was just the same as the one Michael had worn, and Peter, Aaron, and Edward. Suddenly, her stomach hit the floor.

"Who? I'm sorry?"

Leliana's delicate brows pulled into a frown. "You were not told then? I see. Inquisition soldiers recovered Aaron's body from the Temple of Mythal. He was shot, once, with an arrow. It was also confirmed that he had begun to take Red Lyrium."

"So then, the elves-"

"If those guarding the temple make a habit of shooting men in heavy armor from very close range while they are facing one another, certainly. Aaron did not have his sword drawn."

_Peter_

"I see...Maker," Evelyn breathed, taking a moment to collect her turbulent thoughts before she reached out to take the ring from Leliana's fingers. Another to add to her ever growing collection, she thought despairingly.

How could Peter have done such a thing? Aaron had obviously not intended to kill him, he'd not even drawn his sword. How could her brother turn so suddenly away from his own sibling?

Evelyn understood how skewed that sounded, given Aaron's role in her abuse at the hands of the Red Templars, but there was still a part of her that believed her brother could have been saved. Perhaps it was foolish, and perhaps it was weak, but she maintained that her hope for something better kept her grounded, giving her something to move toward. For now, however, she only wanted to find Peter, and discover what _exactly_ had transpired within the Temple of Mythal that day.

* * *

"How long have they been at it?" Cullen asked, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the wall next to Hawke, who'd had the distinctly unpleasant experience of waiting out an outright row between Peter and Evelyn.

"Oh, you know sibling rivalry," she sighed. "About fifteen minutes."

"Leliana told me what had happened, though I cannot say I'd have done any differently than Peter did."

"Same. Aaron, the other brother, was cagey as a nug on Dust. He was damn near ready to lop my head off, and I hadn't even moved."

"You do look scary."

Hawke whipped her head around, sticking her tongue out at Cullen in a singularly immature display of displeasure that was all Marian Hawke. "Bite me, asshole."

Cullen snorted. "I'll pass, thank you."

Sometime during their discourse, the argument had subsided, and now only murmurs spanned the short distance between brother and sister. Thankfully, they had chosen such an infrequently visited place as the wine cellar to have it out, neither wishing the other members of the Inquisition to see them disagree - silly as that sounded.

"I feel guilty, " Cullen spoke suddenly, eyes watching Evelyn sadly as she turned her rings around nervously on her fingers.

"Yeah?"

"This war has taken two brothers from her. I can't help but feel that if the Inquisition had responded sooner, if _I_ had been pressed to action more quickly, that neither of them would have died."

Hawke tried not to roll her eyes. Trust Cullen to find a way to feel guilty over something completely out of his control. "Altar boy…"

Cullen frowned at that blasted nickname, despising the fact that Hawke still needled him with it

"...don't apologize for their mistakes. They were grown-ass men, capable of making their own decisions. Yes, absolutely, it sucks that Evelyn and Peter have to deal with losing loved ones, but they couldn't help the way things turned out, and neither could you. So cut that shit out right now."

"Anyone ever tell you, you'd be a fantastic motivational speaker?"

Hawke's grin was quick and effortless. "Usually just Varric, and normally it's after I've threatened someone into doing what I want."

"Ah, yes. The promise of death is an excellent motivator, or so I hear."

Their little sparring match ended when Evelyn and Peter, looking emotionally as well as physically exhausted, joined Hawke and Cullen where they reclined against the old, large stones of the cellar.

Despite her frustration over her brothers actions, Evelyn could not remain angry at him once she'd heard the tale of Aaron's death in its entirety. She had, begrudgingly, understood the reason for Peter's decision, though she did not share in his wish to see Aaron dead.

"I'm heading off to Ostwick," Peter said abruptly, though Evelyn appeared as if she knew her brother's plans.

Hawke, however, frowned. "Ostwick?"

"Home. I need to visit my family, and help my father break the news to my mother about Aaron. This sort of message requires a personal touch."

Marian nodded slowly, unsure if she was welcome on such a venture or not.

"It would be good," Evelyn mused, regarding Hawke with a small smile, "if you were to go with. I'm sure mother would _love_ to meet you."

Peter grimaced. "Maker, no."

Formerly First Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle, Louisa Trevelyan was a formidable mage and unrepentant mother-hen. She stuck her nose into everyone's business, whether invited or not, and made a point of treating everyone - from the lowest peasants to the noblest kings - like she would her own children. Of course, for her own flesh and blood, this behavior was as mortifying as it was endearing.

"That bad, huh?" Hawke smirked. She might have worn the same expression as Peter, were she able to introduce him to her own mother.

"Likely worse than you're thinking," Peter sighed, though he inclined his head to Evie to concede her point. "That being said, it's not as if I can hide you from her forever, and Father is bound to slip up somehow."

"He probably already has. You know he can't keep secrets from her," Evelyn chuckled.

Peter blew out a long-suffering sigh and squared his shoulders. Of course he wanted to introduce his family to Hawke - just not his mother. The timing, however, was particularly opportune. He was not usually obliged to travel to Ostwick, and it'd been some time - since just before Evelyn had left for the Conclave, as a matter of fact - since he'd been home.

"Well," he said, regarding Hawke with a rather pensive expression, "it's up to you."

"As long as your mother isn't liable to go turning into a Varratel, I can't see the harm. Besides, it'd be nice to meet Edward. Varric intercepted a few letters from him a few years back. Seems like an okay guy."

Cullen's lips twitched in amusement. He should not have been surprised to hear she'd meddled with Templar correspondence.

"Remember those words when mother descends upon you like a whole flock of dragonlings."

"Now you're just being dramatic," Hawke rolled her eyes, steering Peter from the room with a small farewell to Cullen and Evelyn.

"A flock of dragonlings?" Cullen chuckled, "Is she really that bad?

Evelyn wound her arm through his, and the pair walked slowly off in the opposite direction. "You know, he really isn't that far off."

They'd made it as far as the garden, keen on visiting the small Chantry within when they'd heard the horns at the front gate bellow. Confused, Inquisitor and Commander shared a look before extricating themselves from one another and making their way to the front steps. The sight that greeted them utterly befuddled Evelyn, but didn't seem to come as a surprise to Cullen at all.

In the middle of the lower courtyard, alone and in a set of rather non-descript leathers, stood the King of Ferelden wearing a grin instead of a crown. He might have gone by unnoticed by most within Skyhold, were it not for the simple fact that the King was well-known and incredibly well-loved. Slowly, curious onlookers began to gather round, but Alistair was already on the move, taking the steps two at a time to pull Leliana, who had made a silent appearance at Cullen's side, into a bear hug.

"Maker, is it good to see you!"

Leliana smiled warmly at him, and Evelyn thought that perhaps it was the most fond expression she'd ever seen grace the Spymaster's face.

"The feeling is entirely mutual," she said, "and where is your entourage, your _highness_?"

Alistair flashed a grin. "In Denerim, cursing me for slipping away ahead of schedule, I'd imagine."

"So they _didn't_ let you out on your own then," Cullen interjected, meeting Alistair's bemused expression as he clasped the King's arm in friendly greeting. "I was beginning to question their sanity."

The monarch's confusion melted away into another easy smile at his old friend's good-natured barb. Cullen and Alistair had met many years ago, back when the King was nothing but an orphaned boy from Redcliffe, sent to the Chantry to remove him from the eyes of his caregiver's wife. Cullen was the first, awkward as he was, to befriend the newest recruit, and despite his shyness he and Alistair had become fast friends. Although Cullen made a show of being impossibly straight-laced and dignified, he often found himself breaking rules despite his best intentions, and Alistair found the dichotomy altogether charming, as he wasn't very fond of the stuffy strictures the Chantry placed on them.

The pair had, on more occasions than they should admit, sneaked away to the larder for a midnight snack, covered a fellow recruit in honey and a pillow full of chicken feathers, or participated in all manner of small, forgivable offenses. The fun had ended, however, when Cullen had taken his Vigil and had been immediately assigned to Kinloch Hold. Those that passed were not permitted to speak to the other recruits, and that was the last time Alistair had seen his friend.

The next occasion was painful for both of them. Demons and blood magic had overrun the Circle, and Cullen had been deeply scarred by those events. It had been enough that he'd not even recognized Alistair, who could only watch as his friend struggled with the horrors the demons had presented to him, as he heard his friends and charges screaming in agony from the other room. Solona had been another matter altogether, but it had been safe to say that on that day, all of their lives had changed.

Alistair had run into Cullen once more in Kirkwall, quite unexpectedly. He'd barely recognized the cold and rigid man patrolling the Gallows courtyard like jailor. No longer was there any hint of humor in his gaze - of that light-hearted man who'd become his friend when he'd needed one most. The person who had stood in his place was distant, merciless, and the King had avoided saying more to him than a simple greeting.

"Well, you know me," Alistair said, enjoying the renewed look of life that had returned to Cullen's visage. "I'm bound to fumble something. If Anora wasn't around to put me back in line, I'd surely turn the court into some kind of political sideshow."

Cullen shook his head and smiled. "You aren't _that_ socially inept."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Sure."

"Ass."

Both men laughed, and Cullen stepped aside to allow a flustered-looking Josephine her greetings for the monarch. Evelyn could practically hear the nervous breakdown occurring inside the woman's head at that very moment.

Then the King turned his warm eyes on Evelyn, and she instantly understood why his subjects adored him so. Unlike Celene's cold, courtly indifference, Alistair harbored no veiled threats or cunning plots behind his eyes, only simple honesty and a genuine smile.

She liked him immediately.

"And _you_ must be Evelyn Trevelyan, the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, and Cullen Rutherford's betrothed." He shot a glance to the Commander, letting him know that word had traveled rather quickly from Skyhold all the way to Denerim of his artful, if rushed, proposal. " _Quite the resume._ "

Evelyn's smile was quick as ever. "As always, I see my reputation precedes me."

"At least it's good," Alistair chuckled. "Well, mostly good."

"Mostly?"

"You _are_ marrying Cullen."

Her Commander snorted ungraciously as Evelyn laughed and gestured to the open doors of the main hall. "I'm very pleased to welcome you to Skyhold, your majesty."

* * *

Teyrna Anora and Bann Teagan arrived but two days after King Alistair appeared unannounced on the Inquisition's doorstep, and though the King, as Evelyn had come to understand, didn't suffer the formalities of his title with friends, he did make every effort to attempt a kingly air when the Teyrna was present.

As Josephine had said, the woman was sharp and business-oriented. She greeted Evelyn and her advisers with the prescribed graciousness, but seemed markedly less genial when her gaze caught sight of her wayward king.

In the following days, Skyhold saw a great influx of dignitaries from all over Thedas. It had been surprising to Evelyn, though perhaps she should have known better, that the result of these negotiations would have an immense impact on other nations as well.

The summit had officially received its final member late one night with the arrival of Empress Celene and her council. She had been fashionably late, of course, though many could not see any sort of fashion in waking an entire keep in the wee hours of the morning - many including the Inquisitor herself and her Commander, who had to be summoned from her chambers to greet the Empress flush-faced and barely dressed.

"The rudeness of some people," Cullen grumbled in Evelyn's ear, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

"Relax," Evelyn hushed him, pressing herself subtly against his side. He wasn't the only person to have been interrupted. "It's not as if she'll be here forever, at any rate."

Cullen grimaced his displeasure at the mere thought. "Maker, I hope not."

"Cullen," Evelyn chuckled, trying to hide a smile at the inappropriate comment.

As ever, Cullen could not be bothered to suffer the trappings of court life

"A lovely hour to be roused from bed, to be sure," Alistair's gravelly, sleep-filled voice greeted them as the king attempted to stifle a decidedly un-kingly yawn.

"Why in the Maker's name are you up?" Cullen asked with a frown.

"Ass kis- I mean appearances. Yes. If Ferelden wishes to be taken seriously, then I must show that I am also to be taken seriously, even if that means getting out of bed at an unholy hour."

"Hoping to negotiate looking half-asleep then?" Evelyn teased. She'd grown rather comfortable around Alistair since his arrival, and he seemed to appreciate that she was one noble who would treat him the same as any other person in Thedas, king or not.

"Dunno what you're talking about," Alistair yawned. "I look ferocious first thing in the morning. Negotiate away!" He glanced back in Celene's direction, the Empress having reached Josephine at the far end of the room, looking more put together and cheerful than the entirety of Skyhold. Lowering his voice, he continued. "Let's get out of here before she starts propositioning me again."

Cullen blinked. "Sorry. What?"

"Celen is seeking an alliance with Ferelden in what she believes is the _easy_ way."

At Cullen's perplexed expression, Evelyn clarified. "Marriage. Less costly than a war, and better publicity."

Alistair nodded as they made their way out of the hall. "Exactly. She tried once with my father after Rowan died, almost succeeded with Cailan, and now she's turned her sights on me."

"Apologies," Evelyn commiserated. _She_ would not wish to be wed to someone as selfish and and cold, certainly not if she were someone like Alistair.

As if of the same mind, both Evelyn and Cullen looked at one another, smiling fondly when they realized they had been thinking the same thing.

_Thank the Maker I've found you._

The king pointedly ignored their little exchange, but couldn't help a small smile anyway as the trio descended the stairway in the direction of the Herald's Rest. "I always forward those kinds of missives to Anora. She gets angry enough for the both of us."

"Isn't that a bit mean?" Evelyn asked, twining her fingers together with Cullen's as they returned to the conversation at hand.

Alistair shrugged. "Anora is over Cailan. I suspect it riles her because she shares her father's patriotism."

"And why do you get angry?" she pressed.

Alistair laughed. "First, because she thinks I'm the kind of stupid that would hand over my country at the first pretty face that asked. It hurts my feelings. Second, I'm spoken for…" The King trailed off, attention captured by something in the lower courtyard.

A flash of blue and white - just for a moment. Could it have been…? No. his anxious mind was playing tricks on him again. He'd desired to see her a hundred times, and each of those moments had let him down worse than the last. He couldn't afford the price of misery now. As much as Alistair did not like being the king of a nation, he cared too much about doing the right thing to foil these negotiations by letting the memory of a woman incapacitate him.

But Maker, did he miss her.

Evelyn watched Alistair carefully, having stopped when Cullen had also been distracted. While Alistair had quickly scanned the courtyard, however, Cullen seemed fixated on a single point in the darkness, his eyes narrowing. As if on cue, Evelyn felt the Veil stir, and she realized with some surprise that they were in the presence of an extremely powerful mage.

After a tense moment, Cullen bid them continue to the tavern.

"Prince Charming!" Varric crowed, setting down his hand of cards to rise and welcome Alistair to the room. He was not the only one to welcome the monarch with a friendly smile and a touch of reverence.

Evelyn was again pleasantly surprised when Alistair greeted Varric as an old friend, and immediately ensconced himself between Hawke, who gave the monarch a small hug, and Varric who proceeded to deal him into the game. Alistair himself worked right into their game of Wicked Grace, not missing a beat as he introduced himself to the members of the Inquisition he did not yet know. Bull appeared impressed, having heard of the king's travels with the current Arishok. Sera wrinkled her nose, as if his noble blood stank, and Cole sat perched on a nearby bar stool, regarding Alistair curiously while keeping watch over Friend.

Evelyn made her way over to the spirits, smiling a greeting at the quiet blonde boy. "Are you enjoying yourself, Cole?"

He returned her smile, a new and strange expression to be sure, but the action was growing smoother with each passing day.

"Yes," he nodded, then inclined his head to where Alistair was seated. "He is cold inside, even though the fire is burning right over there." Cole's eyes shifted to the blazing hearth.

Evelyn frowned, regarding the king critically for a moment. Was he ill? Unlikely. Alistair seemed fit as a fiddle, though she did recall a distinct sadness in his gaze when he was lost in thought. Obviously, that must have been what Cole was picking up on.

"It feels like drowning," he continued. "There is fighting, but it goes on for so long, and the fight is so hard, and he is so _tired_. Sorrow is flowing between his teeth and down his throat like water, pushing the life out and leaving loneliness. Emptiness."

"What Mr. Ambiguous here is trying to say," Friend interrupted, "is that the guy with the crown is depressed." Evelyn was just about to ask for clarification when she felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around her waist.

"I need to go speak with Leliana," Cullen murmured in her ear.

Evelyn turned herself around in his arms, sliding fingers up the sleeves of his linen shirt. "This is about the mage?"

"Yes. I think I know why she's here, but our Sister Nightingale will know more."

"She?"

Cullen drew Evelyn's hands into his own, placing a kiss to her knuckles. It seemed almost a reassurance for himself. "Solona Amell," he whispered quietly.

* * *

"Now that you've found it, what will you do?"

"I don't even know if the rumor is legitimate, Leliana. That's why I came to you. I need to plan - to research. If something goes wrong, I'll never be able to-"

"I _thought_ that was you." Cullen ascended the final step of the tower, returning Leliana's nod of greeting.

"Cullen," Solona spoke, giving him room to stand beside her. "You look well."

"You've been lurking around since Alistair arrived. Why?"

The Hero of Ferelden sighed. "And still as tactless as ever, I see." She took in her first lover with an air of indifference, though she was silently pleased he had improved in the years since their last meeting. For one, he was not accusing her of being a demon.

She'd take a silver lining where she could find one.

"And I see you still avoid answering direct questions."

Solona and Leliana shared a look before the Hero relaxed somewhat, tension easing from her shoulders. "The Taint - the thing that makes Grey Wardens what they are - I'm looking for a cure."

Cullen's brows rose in surprise, but instead of waiting for him to voice his question, she forged ahead.

"Obviously Weisshaupt cannot know about my search, which is why I've been feeding Leliana as much information as I can on leads that I've found, in case something happens to me."

"Why not tell Alistair? I'm sure he would be more than willing to help you."

"Because he would insist on coming with me, and I will not take that risk. His place is in Denerim, as king. I will do this, and I will cure him." The intensity in her gaze bore into Cullen as her voice rose. "He deserves a full and normal life."

Cullen grit his teeth at that. "More secrets." Last he had heard, Alistair and Solona were on good terms. They'd been steadfast companions during the Blight - the last of their order pitted against the Darkspawn that had ravaged Ferelden. Now something had alienated them from one another, and he could only speculate as to what, but he thought he'd a pretty good idea.

Alistair was obviously in love with her.

"Which is why I'm speaking to Leliana and not _you_."

Cullen rolled his eyes at her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then on your order, I'll leave you be." With a stiff nod at his old paramour, then to Leliana, he left the room.

* * *

"It's definitely the ale."

"Say that one more time Marian, and I swear I'll pin you to the nearest flat surface and have my wicked way with you."

There was a throaty laugh. "Liar. You're _much_ too private for exhibitionism."

"Try me."

"Why are you so grouchy? Isn't it a lover's job to escort his incredibly drunk lady back to her room?"

Peter smiled down at her despite himself "If said lady wasn't making the journey so difficult, we'd be there by now."

He'd gotten her as far as the covered well near the stables before she stumbled again.

"Well I _am_ sorry, but it really isn't my fault The Iron Bull called my bluff."

"Not your fault? My dear, the man is easily four times your size. How could you possibly think you could drink a Qunari under the table?"

She grinned. "You never know until you try."

Peter laughed. "As much as I find your boundless enthusiasm endearing, your failing coordination is not helping me get you to our destination any faster."

"Stop complaining then, and _help_ me."

Peter stopped a moment, cocking his head to the side before a positively evil light entered his eyes. "As you wish."

The Seeker bent down, pinning Hawke's thighs together as his arm wound about them, and hefted her bodily over his shoulder. She reacted with a small, very un-Hawke-like squeal, finding this new angle to be considerably more dizzying than the last. Peter found the view not necessarily more pleasant, but a welcome change.

As Hawke struggled to prop herself upright, numb limbs failing her, her ass wiggled rather provocatively beside his head. Were he a lesser man, he might have been persuaded to act upon the impulse he'd vocalized earlier - that was until she pinched his rear hard enough to draw his lecherous mind out of the gutter.

In retaliation, he turned his head to the side, nipping her bottom hard enough with his teeth to elicit another uncharacteristic squeal.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right," he nipped her again, this time more gently against her thigh. "I give as good as I get."

If Peter had eyes in the back of his head, which many would argue may have been a distinct possibility, he would have seen Hawke's eyes dilate, and the gleeful, almost feral grin she wore at that subtle challenge. "Is that so?" As nonchalantly as possible, one hand, blessedly steady and accurate despite the alcohol, slipped over Peter's leather-clad hip, fingertips brushing just inside the waistband of his trousers.

He tried to ignore her wandering caresses, at the very least until he'd gotten them somewhere private, but the moment her entire hand disappeared down the front of his pants was the exact moment he decided it was imperative to about face and hurry to the nearest, relatively secluded place he could find.

Within the stables, deserted this hour as its usual occupants busied themselves inside the tavern, Peter quickly took the ladder to the hayloft, depositing Hawke rather unceremoniously onto a large, loose pile of straw that horses normally used for bedding.

Good enough.

He followed her body with his own, lips meeting hers in a decidedly desperate kiss. Both of them had been dancing around their mutual attraction for one another since they'd met nearly two years ago, and now, finally, they were getting to act on it without duty, obligations, or feelings getting in the way.

Hawke was the first to move, arching her body up against his as he held himself above her on his forearms. At her desperate bid for closer contact, Peter obliged, settling his weight comfortably against her while he brushed the fingers of one hand down the side of her body - breast, ribs, hip, and thigh, before cupping her where she had so suddenly held him but a few moments ago. Her breathy sigh at the contact was all he needed to continue.

Shifting his body to the side, Peter's lips slid from Marian's as he traced the curve of her jaw and throat with his mouth. All the while, his deft fingers plucked the ties to her leggings as if testing the tension in his bow, quickly divesting her of the garment. As she wiggled her hips to free herself of the constrictive material, Hawke carded her fingers through his dark hair, and slid her leg down over his torso where her knee came to rest on the outside of his hip, opening herself up to him.

Peter could hardly be called upon to refuse such an invitation, and dragged his fingertips along the bare silken skin of her hip and down her thigh. He chuckled when she'd let out a frustrated grunt when his fingers did not go where she wanted them - where she needed them, and Hawke attempted to rectify his mistake by shamelessly bucking her hips against his.

Stifling a groan against the curve of her throat, Peter slid his hand back up over the curve of her ass and spread his fingers wide, pulling her flush against him where she felt the evidence of his desire for her.

"Marian," he breathed against her skin, and she silently thrilled at the sound of her name on his lips. She'd never thought she'd ever heard it said in such a fashion.

His hand slipped up the gentle curve of her spine, her soft contours yielding to his hardened body, and suddenly the flame that had been lit since he'd realized he wanted her swept into a wildfire and plundered the recesses of his self control and consumed the center of his being. He ached with such a need for her that he trembled at its force.

Her own fingers shook as she brushed them up under his shirt, lifting the garment away between fevered kisses and searching hands. Impatience left her removing the ties to his trousers, but he stopped her, rolling her onto her back while his hand gripped her wrist above her head.

Peter undulated his hips against hers, biting the fleshy underside of a breast as he freed himself from his trousers. It took but a moment, a thrust of flesh against flesh before he was coated with her desire for him, and yet another before they were finally joined together.

He reveled in the feel of her body moving against his, whispering endearments into her hair in a language only he could understand as Hawke strove to match his building rhythm. Just when Peter feared he'd exhausted the limits of his endurance, unaware of how much time had passed since their unceremonious detour to the hayloft, Hawke released a primitive moan and erupted against him. The sound of her pleasure sent a shuddering wave of pride and satisfaction through him, and the tightening of her womanhood against him triggered his own release.

As night slowly gave way to the early morning sun, Peter and Hawke found themselves almost too exhausted to sleep. Eyes closed, bodies hot and boneless from their lovemaking, they lay in silence, listening to one another as if nothing else in the world existed.

"I have been waiting for you for so long," Peter breathed, shifting closer to her while holding her tightly against his chest.

Hawke smiled, nuzzling the space between his shoulder and throat. She felt as if she were in the safest, most secure place in all of Thedas. "You don't have to wait anymore."


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone! I love hearing your feedback. One more chapter until our story is concluded!

Cullen woke just a few hours after he and Evelyn had finally been able to get to sleep, blinking wearily in the gray light of early morning. The room was quiet but for the tinkle of Evelyn's many chimes hanging above them, moving in the breeze from the open balcony doors. Strange, he mused, that he thought of this place as hers, though they'd shared a bed for many months now.

He rolled over as carefully as he could in an effort to not disturb his bedmate. His lips grew into a smile at the sight of her beside him, chest rising and falling evenly in the gentle embrace of sleep.

Maker, she was lovely.

Unable to help himself, Cullen tentatively brushed his fingertips along the perfect curve of her spine, marveling at the unmarred expanse of her back she presented to him as she slumbered on one side. Not one scar, not one blemish tarnished her skin here, filling him with both a sense of relief and perhaps a bit of male pride. Relief came knowing that she had been well-protected in the years since she'd stumbled rather artfully into the Inquisition's lap, despite the dangers she'd faced. Pride, well, the pride was knowing that she was his - that she loved him and that he returned the sentiment wholeheartedly - and that not one man in Thedas was as lucky as he was.

His fingers stopped where the bedclothes obscured the rest of her body from his appreciative gaze, and turned upward, moving slowly along the hollow of her back until they reached the base of her neck.

Cullen almost felt guilty when she stirred, murmuring a barely intelligible "morning" before turning to face him, her eyes still closed. She lingered on the cusp of sleep a moment and, though he would have loved to remain abed all day simply touching her, he had work to do. Today was the first meeting of the summit, after all, and though he and Evelyn weren't required to make an appearance for at least another few hours, Cullen found it difficult to remain idle for long.

Leaving Evelyn with a light brush of lips to her forehead, he extracted himself from their bed and tucked the bedclothes beneath her chin before moving to dress.

He frowned at the formal wear the moment he spotted it folded atop a trunk in Evelyn's closet. He would have much preferred to wear his armor when facing the Orlesians and their game, but he shuddered to think what Josephine would do to him if he appeared at a peace summit prepared for battle. It was not so different, he thought, though in this case weapons would be forged with words instead of steel.

It was one manner of combat in which he was simply not proficient, and honestly had no desire to be. He was of a mind that anything that could be settled with discussion could be settled on the field with far less time, money, and effort. Besides, if talking out their problems failed, the Orlesians and Fereldans would find themselves on opposite sides of battle soon enough Such was the state of things, as he'd come to understand.

Donning his trousers and a simple undershirt, he moved to the washbasin where he was then fully awakened by the bite of frigid water against his face.

He glanced into the small looking glass Evelyn kept beside the basin and considered his image a moment. Like Alistair, it was hard to mistake Cullen for anything other than Fereldan. Everything from the straight, prominent nose, to the angular jaw and wide, flat forehead spoke of their Avvar heritage. He wondered, as he looked away, deciding to leave his stubble in place as a small act of defiance, what side of the battle the Inquisition would fall, should these talks come to an unpleasant end?

Geographically, Skyhold was positioned between the two nations, an ugly place to be if such a struggle were to occur, and the Inquisition itself had a fair number of both Orlesian and Fereldan members - not to mention those from other parts of Thedas.

Straightening away from the basin, Cullen scrubbed a clean towel over his face as he turned to look at Evelyn's sleeping form. These talks had to succeed - for all their sakes. Perhaps that was why Evelyn seemed so set on pleasing the Orlesians, though he knew well she found them to be as amenable as a gaggle of angry geese - about as attractive too.

The sky was now turning from gray to pink as the sun began to peek over the snow-capped mountains, and with its appearance, Cullen crossed the room to the bed, shrugging on his jacket as he went. The Commander leaned over the Inquisitor's sleeping form, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek.

"Time to wake up, beautiful," he murmured next to her ear, smiling faintly when she groaned in protest and blinked a pair of bleary eyes open.

"What time is it?" she yawned.

"Early."

Evelyn snorted at his poor joke, rising to sit amid the sea of blankets and pillows that she'd collected about her during her slumber. Her gaze finally settled on him, half-dressed and regarding her with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

"What's so funny?"

He shook his head, turning to give her some privacy while she dressed. Cullen leaned against the doorframe of the open balcony, listening to her hum quietly inside the room as she went about her morning routine, and was struck by how much he liked the simplicity of it all. After the Blight, he would have been horrified if someone had told him that he would one day trust a mage at his back, much less want to marry one. Yet here he was, desiring nothing more than to simply exist in this time and space forever, listening to her hum what he strongly suspected was a drinking song from the tavern as she dressed.

Suddenly the idea of a life unbound from the Order, the Lyrium, and politics seemed more within reach than he'd thought. And she would be his wife.

For the second time that morning, he reflected on just how fortunate he was to have her.

"Would you mind?"

Evelyn's question drew his gaze from the view of Skyhold below to his lover's form as she turned and presented her back to him. She'd donned her dress, holding the front up to her chest while the back lay open, impossible for her to fasten by herself.

He gripped both ends of the dress and drew her gently back toward him, fitting the buttons easily together as he worked his way up the length of her spine. She smiled in thanks at him over her shoulder, her hair pulled to one side to expose her neck, and he felt suddenly all too aware of how desirable he found her.

Not that it was a problem, of course - unless one was trying to make an important appointment on time.

Instead of undressing her like he wanted, Cullen stomped down mercilessly on his ardor and instead pressed his lips against her bare shoulder. Dutifully, his fingers continued to fasten her dress, though his eyes closed and his lips brushed small kisses up her shoulder and the soft curve of her neck. She shuddered beneath him, and Evelyn suppressed a small sound that made his hands freeze where they were, nearly to the end of that ridiculously long trail of buttons.

His eyes opened to find her peering back at him with thinly veiled desire, a pretty flush on her cheeks.

Andraste have mercy.

With great force of will, Cullen resumed dressing her, stepping pointedly away when he'd finished to give himself room to breathe. She didn't let him get far, however, and he noted with a groan the mischievous glint in her eyes. She halted him with a word, stepping up to fix his jacket and adjust his sash. She was far closer to him than necessary, and her fingers lingered longer at his waist before drifting up to adjust the various medals hanging from his breast, then finally to grip his lapels.

"I suppose it's showtime," Evelyn smiled, rising up on her toes to brush a kiss along the corner of his mouth. It was teasing, and well she knew it.

It was going to be an insufferably long day.

* * *

He had never thought it would have come to this - standing idly by while the love of his life tore about the room, keen on escaping him and the life she'd chosen for him - a life he should have never agreed to. He had trusted her, thought that she would remain at his side through it all as she had done during the Blight, but time and circumstance changed everyone, he'd come to discover. It especially changed those who were required to fulfill roles they had never intended to assume.

His poison, and in some ways what he was coming to consider his saving grace, was the heavy crown of Ferelden. Its weight reminded him often of his duty, and though he wished to be elsewhere with his fellow Wardens, in a life that seemed Ages away, he could do more good for the people of Thedas beneath that crown.

Ten years had gone by since his reluctant claim to the throne of Calenhad and his father Maric. Ten years since he'd felled an Archdemon with the love of his life fighting beside him. The bonds of war, affection, and desperation tethered them together stronger than any force he'd ever known, and in those quiet hours when none were still awake they had promised to remain together.

Foolishly perhaps, he'd relied on that promise of permanence - of love - and as Alistair watched his Warden rush about their chambers, collecting her clothing, books, and any small baubles she considered useful, he realized she suffered worse beneath the duty of Ferelden's kings than even he.

She was leaving him with her decision, unable to bear it and ready to flee for the safety of a life he forced himself to never dream of again. She was able to escape his life and he could not follow her, and each moment he allowed her to go about her packing while he stood helplessly in a corner he could feel the distance between them growing.

Alistair could not stand it.

He would have never admitted to her or anyone, as he had watched her shove her belongings into her rucksack, that he had wished to cry - or that he most assuredly would once she was gone. Such sentiments held her in place, and if he were unwilling to remain was he in her position, he would not have wanted his love to hold him back with tears and petty assurances.

Despite what his head told him, however, his heart was rending in two, and wanted to hear none of it.

She was leaving him. She was leaving and he desperately wanted her to stay - needed her to stay. As ever, his heart won the battle.

"Solona..." he began, unsure of what he could possibly say to keep her as his voice echoed throughout their cavernous bedchamber. A place once full of warmth and happiness was now dark and empty, void of the memories of simpler times.

He halted his speech, selecting and then discarding hundreds of arguments that sounded pleasant enough to his ears, but would have seemed lame if uttered aloud. He'd toed this line often enough, having fought with Eamon for years to retain Solona within the palace. The Arl was not fooled like most, content to assume that the King wished the Warden - the mage Warden - as a mistress. Never. He knew full well that Alistair was moving to make her his queen.

Of course, his uncle's protests were vehement. The King of Ferelden could simply not marry a mage, he'd said. What would the people think? What if the Wardens used her proximity to the throne to stage a coup? That argument always left Eamon conveniently omitting the fact that Alistair himself was a Grey Warden. Although Alistair had defended her vigorously, summoning every bit of logical assertion he could possibly think of, it was then that she had begun to distance herself from him.

For a time, after overhearing one particularly heated debate on the matter, Solona had made regular visits to the palace while she struggled to rebuild Warden numbers in Ferelden. As time drew on, however, and Alistair grew more comfortable within his installment at Court, the length of her visits had shortened, and very soon after that she had neglected to come altogether.

It took Alistair several weeks to realize that she had been plainly avoiding his company.

"Please," he spoke again, clearing his throat of a torrent of emotions that surfaced at the memory. He stepped forward, near enough to feel the heat of her body through his simple clothes.

Reaching out, he brushed the backs of his knuckles across her cheek, even as she refused to look at him.

She flinched away from him, surprised at the tenderness of his touch.

"Please tell me why you can't stay," he said again, his voice breaking under the weight of his sorrow.

At last she looked at him, lovely eyes bright with unshed tears. As ever, they told him everything, as if she were a book. He saw regret there, his own sadness mirrored in her gaze even as the small, defiant tilt of her chin spoke of her bone-headed determination to go off and accomplish whatever task she had set for herself.

She had not thought to enlighten him, at any rate.

"You know I cannot stay, Alistair." Her voice wavered, and she looked down, eyelashes fanning prettily against her cheek."Your arguments with your uncle have been getting worse, and even Anora thinks it's high time that you take a-"

"Don't!" Alistair blurted, cursing himself for his ineptitude at this kind of conversation when her eyes snapped back to his in alarm at his outburst.

More gently, he continued. "Don't say it. It won't happen, so don't even entertain the thought."

She sighed. "I am not the woman you need. I could never be a proper queen, and you know it. There would be talk. I'm a mage, and," she sighed, taking a deep, fortifying breath, "I would jeopardize your rule if I remained at your side."

"To the Void with what others think!" The King shook his head in blatant defiance to her softly spoken truths. "You are exactly what I need. You have been since the first moment I saw you. You know that."

She shook her head once, firmly. "No. We were foolish to think it would be - that I wouldn't - You're the King and I'm..." Solona fumbled horribly, beginning to feel the hot sting of tears prick her eyes.

"You chose this for me. Despite everything, you said you would stand beside me. You promised!"

"And I have!" she argued, a quiet anger building in the depths of her warm brown eyes. "I have, and in that time you've become great - a magnificent leader. A kind and benevolent ruler, as I always thought you would be. You were meant for this, but I'm not."

"That isn't true at all, you-"

"Alistair, you're not listening to me. I am no queen! I am a jaded, sheltered Circle mage who was thrown into the role of Warden Commander. I fight Darkspawn, not courtiers and nobles. I am not suited to this life of finery. If I tried, I would do just as Eamon predicted and bungle the whole thing. I'd disgrace the crown, Ferelden, and," her lip quivered, and Alistair thought he'd never seen her so upset since they'd met. "And I'd disgrace you," she uttered quietly, as if that admission was the most painful thing that she could verbalize. "I can't. I can't do that to you along with everything else."

Solona threaded her fingers together in front of her and begged. "Please let me go. Don't keep insisting I remain because, for you, I will. You need to let me go, so I can let you go."

Her words had hit him like a blow, and he had nearly staggered backwards from the force of them. Was this how she had really felt? Would he have insisted she stay with him out of his own selfish misery?

He had suddenly felt like he was going to be ill.

"Is it - do you really not want to stay...with me?"

She nodded frantically, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "You deserve someone better - someone who can give you the things I cannot."

He had heard her words, but couldn't believe them. Someone better? That person did not exist.

"Solona, I want you. I couldn't give a Qunari's bare ass what Eamon wants, or my advisers, or the rest of bloody Ferelden."

She had pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and blew out a shaky breath. "Don't keep me here. Don't make promises you won't be able to keep. Alistair," she sobbed, "please don't make this my Circle."

He'd reached out again, this time out of more desperation to feel her than any desire to comfort her. She hadn't pulled away. Gently, his fingers had traced up the curve of her elbow, across her collarbone, and finally curled beneath her chin to bring her watery gaze to his.

"But I love you."

She'd let out a strangled sob, a sound that had torn his heart to pieces. "I'm sorry."

"I know you feel the same." He knew it as surely as he could feel her in his blood.

Her eyes had searched his for a long moment, tears drifting slowly down her cheeks. In a surge of motion, Solona threw her arms around his neck and had pressed her lips to his. He had tasted the salt of her tears in their kiss, but before he could have returned the embrace and pull her against him, she had withdrawn, broken away, and disappeared out the door. The King had been left standing in a cold, empty room with nothing but the memory of her kiss.

* * *

It had been three years, one month, and 12 days since that moment - since the last time he'd seen her. One could imagine Alistair's surprise when he spotted her at the peace summit.

He'd just finished speaking to the Inquisitor, Evelyn, as she said she preferred to be called, when he caught sight of her moving about the perimeter of the room. She was drawn in heavy shadow, but he could sense her - knew her with an acute stirring of his blood that only another Warden could provoke. Alistair was just readying to excuse himself from the room and chase her down, propriety be damned, when he was waylaid by the Empress of Orlais and the bevy of overdressed peacocks she liked to refer to as courtiers.

Official proceedings had concluded for the day. They'd made some progress with trade agreements thanks to Anora, and much more when it came to transferring the occupants of Val Royeaux's alienage to Denerim thanks to him. Clearly the Empress didn't want them, but Alistair had seen a golden opportunity to expand upon a project Anora's father had begun during the occupation. Though he was loathe to credit the man, Loghain's development of the Night Elves had served his country well during the rebellion, and it would serve well again if the King had anything to say about it.

That small victory aside, the king was weary of Orlais' Grand Game, and he'd no mind to sit and simper to the nobles despite how badly he wanted to catch up with Cullen or get to know his Inquisitor. Alistair was focused on far more pressing matters.

He stalked the halls when he could no longer feel her within the common room. Up and down each wing he went, scouring the keep for her likeness until he came to a sudden and heart-lurching stop in the seemingly deserted library below the rookery.

She stood there, hand poised just over a brass door handle, looking at him with wide eyes. He would have called the expression disbelieving if he didn't know that she  _knew_  he was here. She had to. How could she ignore the thrum of him in her blood any better than he could ignore hers? The pounding in his veins intensified, though it had little to do with the Taint that bound them together and everything to do with the torrent of emotions deafening his ears, numbing his mind, and blurring his vision of everything that wasn't her.

"May I-" he began, his voice cracking lamely before he cleared his throat and tried again. "May I have a moment?"

He knew that look. It was the shifty-eyed take about the room she always did when she was preparing to run. Alistair wouldn't let her get away this time.

As he guessed, her grip on the door handle tightened an instant before she tried to pull it open, but his hand came slamming down on the timbers fast enough to hold it shut. He'd closed the distance between them in only a few strides, and it took her a moment to realize he was the reason the door wasn't budging.

"I can't stay," she grunted, trying to pry his arm off the door.

Apparently she'd forgotten how strong he was. For all her enhanced abilities thanks to the Taint, Alistair was still a warrior, and a Warden - a hefty one at that.

"I know." He lowered his voice, studying the delicate curve of her throat from his vantage point above her. "But I only asked for a moment."

She regarded him dubiously out of the corner of her eye, her mighty struggle to get away from him slowing to a halt. He got the impression that she hadn't really tried anyway.

"There are some things- I've given what you said before a lot of thought."

Solona straightened away from the door, a sign she was at least listening. Their eyes were locked on one another, something building between their gazes that was both familiar and a little frightening - at least for him.

"I didn't want to believe it," he continued, "but I understand how you feel about...about us. I get it, shocking I would say such a thing. Teagan would be tickled pink by my overtures of diplomacy, I can assure you."

Ah, there was a smile. It was just the barest hint of a thing, but Alistair knew this woman inside and out, and such a subtlety was not lost on him.

He took a fortifying breath. "I'm not asking you to return with me to the palace. I'm also not asking you to be my queen or," he twirled his hand about in the air a moment, searching for the word, "whatever. I just wanted to tell you that I realize why you did what you did - why you left, and that no matter where you might be - electrocuting blood mages, slapping the new Arishok on the hand when he steals from the cookie jar, or kicking the snot out of Darkspawn - that I will always love you."

Unthinking, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and Solona's resulting blush painted her skin a charming shade of pink.

"Alistair, I-"

"Rude," he chastised, though his smile belied his true feelings. "I wasn't finished yet."

"Can you be finished?"

He frowned. "I guess-mmpfff!"

Alistair's words were muffled by the fabric of her cowl draped thickly over her shoulder as she pulled him into a hug.

"Maker, I've missed you." Solona squeezed her eyes shut, burying her nose in the fur of his collar, relishing in how his scent seemed to cling more heavily there. There was so much she had left to do, and she knew it was foolish to flirt with the idea of remaining with him and shirking her duties, for she could not rightly abandon her cause - even if it was for the most wonderful man she had ever known.

Still, he had not come to demand anything of her, and she had missed him endlessly for years.

"I have to leave soon but-" she bit her lip. Damnit, she wanted this. "Come with me."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the door which he, moments before, had held shut. Inside were her modest lodgings. A Grey Warden didn't need a palatial suite like those afforded to the King, the Empress, or the Inquisitor. She was merely an old hero of a decade past - one desperately trying to keep a low profile.

"What were you doing up here, anyway?" Alistair asked.

"Oh, just - I needed to go to the bathroom."

"On the...terrace?" His grin was that lopsided, playful thing that made her stomach flip.

It was then she realized that she was not in her room - or anywhere near it, it seemed. She really had intended to use the chamberpot, but it appeared she had no idea where in this monstrosity of a keep she actually was.

Damnit again.

"Don't you dare laugh. You  _know_  I have terrible navigational skills."

"Oho, yes. I do know. Thank the Maker you at least know how to read a map or I'd be sending out a...search party." His sentence slowed as he realized what he was saying. Despite himself, he was still intensely possessive of her - and had sent out search parties when word of her had ceased to reach his ears back in the capitol. "Sorry. I have a habit of worrying over your wellbeing. You know, feelings and all of that messy love business."

He didn't think she would smile, but she did just before tugging his hand up and pressing a kiss to his calloused palm.

"You're right. Love is a rather messy business."

She realized this might be the last time for a long while that their paths would cross. She knew it last time as well, but she'd been more frightened then. She'd been driven to flee by Eamon's pestering and Alistair's slow transformation into the king she always knew he could be. He was changing with the world while she stayed the same, and she'd felt as if it was only a matter of time before he grew bored of her and took up with someone more suitable. Someone who wasn't an apostate Warden from a broken Circle with no connections or inheritance. She could offer him nothing, and yet as she looked at him and he looked at her, she saw nothing to support her insecurities.

She had always known she would complete her mission, but now, with his loving eyes upon her, she vowed to finish and do it quickly. He would have a full life, free of the Taint, and able to provide Ferelden with a bright, stable future.

"Solona, tell me to leave right now, or I'm going to kiss you."

Her heart swelled, and she pulled his lips to hers and kissed him instead. She may not see him again for a while after tonight, or ever again, but she was going to make it count. She was going to let him know that she still cared for him, no matter the distance between them, socially or otherwise.

She felt the tension melt from his shoulders as he sighed into her mouth, arms banding around her waist to pull her against him. She knew this dance well, and though the pair of them were outside and exposed, it seemed neither of them minded the chill. Solona hopped once and Alistair caught her as she caged his hips with her thighs and forced him to lean back against the unyielding stone wall of the keep.

Solona's fingers worked at the clasps of her armor as her eyes sought his, and in them was a hungry fire burning with an intensity as she'd never seen before. One of his hands braced against her bottom, thumb idly caressing the leathers pulled taut over her generous backside. His other hand drifted up along the long column of her neck, fingertips barely brushing her skin until he finally plunged them into the thick, dark locks of her hair.

"Lana-"

She halted his words by pressing a forefinger to his lips then, slowly, maddeningly, let it slide down his chin, neck, and all the way south until it reached the laces of his breeches between them.

Sweet Maker.

"I know we don't have long, but this may be the only time we'll ever have. If I'm leaving you again, I want it to be a better memory than last time."

"But this - you don't have to do  _this_  if you don't want to. Your feelings last time…" He trailed off, unsure of just what sentiment he was trying to put to words. When it came to his Solona, the sheer multitude of emotions that drifted through his body and soul were too fierce and powerful to articulate.

She smiled, bowing her head to nibble at the skin beneath his ear. "I want to do this," was her mumbled reply. "I  _need_  to do this."

All arguments, and likely all rational thoughts, were flung to the furthest reaches of his mind when she slid her hand into his breeches and touched him.

Suddenly he needed this too.

Gripping her hair in his palm, he tugged her head back and hungrily consumed her in a kiss she was sure might have very well set her on fire were he a mage. Despite the lack of real flames, the heat that spread from their combined embrace coursed through her blood and settled comfortingly in the pit of her stomach. It drove a small, desperate whimper from her.

When he pulled away for air she followed, nipping the inside of his wrist, his forearm, and every bit of exposed flesh between her mouth and his while she stroked her hand against his hardened length. Alistair's breaths were ragged, white puffs of steam coalescing in the air between them while he watched her touch him from beneath lashes so long they should be a sin against the Maker.

"This would be a terrible time to get frostbite," he murmured, brushing his lips over hers.

Solona couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up from her chest.

"Damn it, Alistair. I'm trying to be sexy."

"Mmm, you're perfect from where I'm standing."

He didn't want to speak any longer. Pulling back the last clasp of her breast plate before letting it fall to the ground, he slipped his hand up underneath her linen shirt. Expert fingers teased across the skin of her ribs, her breasts, causing her to break out into goosebumps and shivers.

Alistair pulled her tighter against him and the warmth radiating from his body was enough to stay the cold, though she'd begun to wriggle in his arms.

"Pants. Off," she tried to explain, and her king simply laughed at her, then stepped on one trailing pant leg and lifted her off the ground, promptly divesting her of the troublesome garment.

She was on him again, all bare, shapely legs that twined sinuously around his body while she rocked her core against him.

Pants off.  _Yes_. Definitely. No two words strung together could ever sound, or feel, better.

Greedy for more of her, Alistair tugged her hair again, forcing her body to bow backward to expose her chest which he immediately lavished with his tongue. Even through the rough fabric of her shirt, he could feel the pert peaks of her nipples, and enjoyed himself even more when her hands fled his shoulders to bury themselves in his hair.

Her hips bucked urgently against his while a low, guttural moan breathed past her lips, and he felt obligated to assist.

He was a benevolent monarch after all.

Still teasing her with his tongue, he freed a hand to drift between them and stroke her where she needed him. Another desperate whimper, another press of her hips to seek that friction she so desired, and he was undone.

Too long without her, it took no time at all to free himself from the confines of his trousers and press into her with one impatient stroke.

"Shit!" Solona sucked in her breath sharply at the sensation of him hard and full inside of her. Maker, it had been far too long. Her heart pounding a quick staccato beneath her breast, she pulled herself upright and cleaved her body to his, rocking her hips in a slow, gentle fashion. She hummed pleasantly at the long-desired sensations building up within her, all the while laving his neck with her tongue.

Alistair stilled, letting her love him. He enjoyed watching her take control, he thought as he dipped his head to taste the salt of her skin. Solona's gratified mewls of pleasure spurred him to bite, touch, taste everything within reach - everything she offered to him.

She cried out his name, a call he swallowed with his mouth when he pulled her lips to his as her body clenched around him. It was too much to bear. Anchoring her with both arms, Alistair surged into her, allowing her to wring out her pleasure while he sought his own. It didn't take him long to join her.

Head reeling, sweat beading into his finely tailored clothes, he pumped into her as the last vestiges of his release rolled through him. His nose was buried in her hair at the crook of her neck, breathing her in and out of him, realizing that for the first time in years he felt at ease.

Solona leaned propped up against his chest, listening to the strong and steady beating of his heart beneath her ear as she came to her senses.

She was laying against a man she'd never thought to see again, sweaty, exhausted, and unbelievably content.

"I'll be gone in the morning," she murmured against him, breathing a sigh across his knuckles as she lifted his hand to her lips.

"I know."

"I promise," she hesitated. Could she really promise this? What right did she have to leave him hoping for something that may never happen? Though as she nestled her cheek against his shoulder, surrounding by his calming presence, she decided that, come what may, she would see him again. "I promise I'll come back. We'll see each other again."

She sensed his smile, rather than saw it, when he pressed his lips against the crown of her head. "I know."

* * *

The following morning assured Alistair that Solona had gone. It seemed as though Evelyn's brother and Hawke, the Champion herself, had left with her. It was just as well that they had gone. Today, the peace talks would most assuredly take a far more interesting and, if Teagan was to be believed, dangerous turn.

Celene had been hinting at a formal alliance between their countries through marriage, and though perhaps a logical monarch might have seen the benefits and security in such an arrangement, the history between their two countries was such that Alistair found the possibility of uniting their nations nigh impossible - and that was  _if_  he was interested in marrying the Empress at all.

He wasn't, obviously.

The position of Queen was vacant and would remain so until he could convince Solona to take up the role. If he never could, then he would never take wife, and he was satisfied with leaving Ferelden in the hands of a ruler suited to the role through skill, not birth. Though, if he were honest, the image of Solona raising their child caused a whole slew of warm fuzzies to erupt in his chest. A feeling he most certainly didn't associate with dangerous meetings.

The King walked through the garden and into the main hall where Anora and Teagan were already in deep conversation. Nearby, Celene and her fanclub were already seated. The Empress's eyes landed squarely upon him in a way that made his skin crawl, and he desperately fought the urge to stick out his tongue at her.

"Alistair, you look rather jovial for one of your least favorite pastimes," Anora commented, shrewdly assessing her monarch for anything that might be amiss.

"Is having a good night's rest a crime now?"

"Possibly, where you're concerned."

He flashed a quick smile at his regent, which she was growing accustomed to returning. Anora definitely wasn't the hugging sort, but she was beginning to develop a fondness for her King's easy manner. It wasn't as cruel and uncaring as Cailan's horrid personality, but friendly and genuine. Though she had resented Alistair immensely at the beginning of their association, she was beginning to view him as more of a pupil, perhaps as some would see a younger sibling. In a way, she supposed, they were related, if only through marriage.

Some time later, with the Inquisitor, her Ambassador, and her Commander all present, the talks resumed, though they took a turn for the worse. Alistair had been correct in assuming the direction Celene would take their discussion when they'd elected to iron out a peace treaty between their two nations.

"Consider my proposition carefully, your majesty. Your country is still weak from the Blight. It is susceptible to invasion."

"Funny how you mention invading forces when no such nation has even hinted at the possibility that they might take advantage of Ferelden's state," Anora bristled at the Empress. The former queen hated the Empress for her attempt to usurp the throne right out from under her by stealing her husband.

Alistair remained silent.

"I am simply saying that the benefits to such an alliance would ensure the protection of Ferelden by Thedas' most seasoned warriors. Not only that, but there is the matter of the heir. It is well known that your regent is barren, and that other noble houses in your country have already married off their daughters, or they are simply too old to carry a royal child safely to term."

Alistair hadn't expected Celene's speaking of his female subjects as breeding stock would rankle him so, and yet he found himself growing irritated. He felt Anora stiffen in her chair beside him at the Empress's bold remark upon her personal affairs.

His hand found hers, though his eyes never left Celene as she continued to dole out her list of benefits to marrying into Orlesian nobility. It was a simple gesture, a firm squeeze of his hand, but it spoke volumes.

Calm down.

It's alright.

I won't let her.

When the Empress had reached the end of her long, and what Alistair assumed had been a very moving and eloquent speech, she left most of the room, sans the Orlesians, feeling slightly offended. Alistair's mood went a bit more sour than that, unfortunately.

"No," he finally said. The word was quiet, but weighted, and Celene could hardly believe her ears, though she'd read the same response in her correspondence to him for years.

"What?"

"I said no. No, I will not marry you. No, you needn't concern yourself with Ferelden's potential heirs, and no, I really don't care about how rich Orlesian culture is and how it would benefit us backward Fereldan folk."

"I didn't mean-" Celene bristled, clearly taken aback by the King's upset. She'd heard he was a soft, amenable man, keen to let his regent rule in his stead. She had thought he would simply roll over. She'd been wrong.

"Let me tell you how I see this alliance," Alistair began, now holding the attention of the room.

Evelyn smiled faintly from beside Cullen. He knew she rather liked Alistair, and though she respected Celene's tenacity, did not regard her very highly on a personal level. The sight of the King turning the tables on the empress was amusing to behold indeed.

As they listened with a growing respect for Alistair as a diplomat, Cullen's fingers played along the inside of Evelyn's wrist. He leaned into her ever so slightly, arm pressing against hers as he dipped his head to speak.

"On a scale of one to ten, how pissed do you think Celene is right now?" His lips brushed the shell of Evelyn's ear, and she did an admirable job of appearing unaffected, though Cullen couldn't miss the goosebumps rising on her skin.

"How's twenty sound?" she whispered in reply, a sly smile gracing her lips as she glanced back at him.

He had just opened his mouth to respond when a commotion outside the door interrupted him. Alistair had paused as well.

"Guard!" Cullen shouted, rising to his feet the split second before a group of men burst into the room, Inquisition soldiers dead at their feet.

They wasted no time, surging forward to plunge the chamber into chaos while one trained his bow on Celene. It all happened so quickly, the occupants of the room barely had time to register the presence of a hostile force when Alistair brought forth his shield to knock the archer's arrow away from the Empress.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, Leliana's spies and Cullen's soldiers subduing the invaders within minutes. All the while, though, as King Alistair barked orders to his men, effortlessly assuming the role of a general, Celene looked upon the ruler of Ferelden in an entirely new light and, for once, held her tongue.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends! This is the end! I hope you all have enjoyed this journey with me, and I sincerely hope you all will check out the sequel to this tale when it's available. I appreciate your support SO much! Let me be clear in saying that I would not have been able to do this without you. Another massive thank you to bushviper for holding my hand and being my cheerleader as a friend as well as a beta. 
> 
> Hope to see you all next time!

 

No one had  _really_  been all that surprised that someone had the balls to try to assassinate the Empress of Orlais right under the Inquisition's nose. Fortunately, the preparedness of Cullen's men had nullified that potential disaster as well as - what the bards were calling anyway - the heroic efforts of King Alistair. He'd saved their Empress' life, after all, and some were even calling the deed a precursor to what was most assuredly a passionate affair between the two monarchs, despite the King's outward disdain for Celene. Such animosity had always made a great beginning to the best love stories. Varric heartily agreed on that point, teasing the King over a rumor that had absolutely no basis in reality.

"Ew!"

Evelyn raised a pale brow at the King of Ferelden as he scrunched up his nose in disgust, looking very much like a large child refusing to eat his vegetables. "Ew?"

"Yes!" he snapped, glaring at Varric as the dwarf laughed so hard he nearly fell off his barstool. "The very  _last_  thing I need is for those rumors to make their way to Ferelden. People will think I've gone the way of Cailan."

"But saving your lover's life is so much more romantic than an arranged marriage." Evelyn smirked. "Perhaps your people could forgive you such a trespass."

Alistair took a large swig of ale from his tankard and grimaced. He hated ale. "Clearly, my friend, you don't know Fereldans very well."

She laughed, and the subject morphed from the King's current romantic dilemma into a discussion about Denerim. Evelyn had never seen the capital, and found herself fascinated by both its history and its people. It was not, she reflected, very different from Ostwick, and Alistair seemed incredibly invested in seeing to the needs of his people.

Just as they were about to broach the subject of the Night Elves, Cullen entered the tavern, looking a bit worse for wear, though far less severe than he had when he'd confined the Inquisitor, the King, and the Empress to the Herald's Rest several hours ago. They had been more or less under house arrest until the matter with the assassins could be clarified, and a sweep done of Skyhold to ensure that any remaining hostiles were swiftly put to the sword or captured for questioning. Obviously, Celene had scoffed at the notion of being delegated to remain in a bar, but King Alistair only seemed to mind the fact that some had died as a result of their gathering, and was keen on assisting the Inquisition with finding the culprits - even if that meant drinking something someone somewhere liked to  _call_  ale.

Evelyn's commander strode over to them purposefully, looking  _very_ professional. It made her smile a bit to herself at just how straight-laced and in control he could appear when such a gentle man existed just beneath the surface of that hard exterior.

He spoke with one of Alistair's guards, their semi-circle around the King and against the bar sufficient enough protection against anymore would-be assassins, and was allowed closer.

"You're not going to believe this," he finally said, subconsciously drawing the back of his hand along Evelyn's arm in a small reassuring gesture.

Alistair didn't miss the action, and for a moment felt a flicker of jealousy at the affectionate display. He wasn't envious of Cullen, though, simply the easy manner in which he could simply  _be_  with Evelyn. His own romance was not so simple, if it was even a romance anymore.

Pushing thoughts of his last encounter with Solona aside, Alistair composed himself. "If  _I'm_ not going to believe it, then it must be really off-the-wall."

Cullen sighed, irritated that it was not as "off-the-wall" as he wished it were. "Templars."

Alistair cocked his head, eyes narrowing. "Sorry. What?"

"The assassins were Templars hired by the Chantry in Orlais to kill Celene. Apparently she's been attempting a sort of separation of religious and state affairs."

"Commendable," Alistair replied, and it was, though deviating from the Chantry in any way was sure to ruffle a few feathers - or frocks. He paused, and then acknowledged, "If stupid."

Unbidden, the image of an elderly Mother with a ruffling habit came to mind, and Alistair suppressed the desire to curl his lip in distaste.

"Apparently Celene expected the Chantry to be upset, but to call for her death," Cullen commented.

"Is it really so surprising? You and I grew up with a fair few of those lunatics, and none are what I would consider particularly pious."

Cullen reluctantly nodded, mindful of Alistair's resentment toward the politics that had kept him from his family when he was a young man. "You have a point."

"And now Celene must keep an even more watchful eye on her courtiers. I'm sure some of them are aligned with the Chantry, and all too willing to take her place should she suffer an accident of some sort," Evelyn said, twining her fingers with Cullen's and drawing his hand into her lap.

"That is, unless, her valiant barbarian king would be willing to name himself her champion and accompany her back to the capital to ensure her safety." Cullen's eye's lit up at this as he regarded the king, who immediately curled his lip and thumped his head down on the hard wood of the bar.

"Not you  _too_!"

* * *

 

Things had settled down in the days after the attempt on Celene's life. The Empress had gone on back to Orlais, stating that those audacious enough to call for her death would learn their places shortly. Evelyn took that to mean she'd be hiring some assassins of her own, and couldn't very well blame her for the harsh sentiment. If the Empress wished to eradicate those members of the Chantry who would kill to keep their ailing organization alive, the Inquisitor really had nothing averse to say on the matter. The notion may have shocked her at one time - that she wouldn't mind one person venturing to kill another - but since joining the Inquisition, she'd changed her stance on several matters.

With Celene gone, King Alistair relaxed a bit more, and seemed to take to discussing Inquisition matters for fun with Leliana, though Evelyn suspected the Spymaster and even Josephine appreciated his insight and natural directness when commenting on their various intrigues - something Cullen could not be bothered with. In most cases, when asked to form an opinion on some visiting dignitary, the Commander's simple and resounding response was "no".

There was one day in particular, however, when Alistair had decided to forgo his usual responsibilities and sought out Evelyn as she had been entering the garden. He had been keen on learning more of her, intrigued by her childhood and her family's role in Circle politics in Ostwick, and even more interested in how she'd managed to gather such a ragtag bunch of individuals skilled enough to make the Inquisition a formidable force. He had confessed, a little bashfully, that she reminded him a bit of Solona, the Hero of Ferelden, who'd done much the same thing during the Blight.

She had just been in the middle of denying the similarity outright, feeling undeserving of such praise when the King stopped dead in his tracks, cursing softly under his breath.

On the opposite end of the garden, near the pavilion, stood Morrigan. She was speaking rather animatedly with Threnn while her son Keiran appeared to be observing a rather curious looking bud of Embrium with Mother Giselle.

"That woman," Alistair pointed, all traces of good humor gone from his face, "is her name Morrigan?"

Evelyn blinked, blindsided by his sudden shift in demeanor. "Yes. She was recruited to the Inquisition in Orlais."

"And the boy? Who is he?"

"Her son. His name is Kieran. Why? Do you know them?"

A strange gambit of emotions passed over Alistair's features before he took a fortifying breath and nodded, seemingly to himself.

"Excuse me, Evelyn. I'll catch up with you later. I have some things to take care of."

He didn't wait for her to reply, and she watched as he strode over to Morrigan, quietly interrupting her conversation with Threnn. The woman didn't seem surprised to see him. They spoke for a moment or two, before Morrigan turned his attention to the boy, and something akin to wonder graced Alistair's features, so different from the tight look of resignation they'd initially taken on.

The King glanced back to Morrigan, saying something the Inquisitor could not quite hear. She nodded, and Alistair tentatively approached the boy, dropping down on his heels beside him before speaking.

"Ah," Leliana's voice spoke from beside Evelyn, drawing the Inquisitor's attention away from the perplexing scene and to the Nightingale's face. "I was wondering when he would stumble upon them."

"You know what's going on?" Evelyn asked. "Because I've no idea."

Leliana smiled and nodded once. "Kieran is Alistair's son," she said. "He has not seen Morrigan or his child since the end of the Blight."

Evelyn felt startled by that information. "I thought he had eyes only for the Hero of Ferelden."

Leliana shrugged one elegant shoulder. "It's not my place to air the details of the arrangement, but regardless, Kieran is Alistair's blood, and the only real family he has."

"So Keiran stands to inherit the throne?"

"I do not believe Morrigan wishes that for him, nor Alistair for that matter."

Evelyn seemed to understand that point. While Alistair was a good king, he seemed immeasurably sad, and Morrigan didn't seem at all keen on sharing Kieran with anyone, least of all an entire country. "He seems to barely desire it himself."

"That is more true some days than others. Now, I must pull you away. Cullen has more information on those Templars."

The Nightingale's voice hardened on the word Templar, and Evelyn could only guess the woman was struggling to keep calm at the notion that a bunch of warriors not rightly known for their stealth could have infiltrated her security detail at the summit.

"What has he found?"

The two women left the King and his son behind as they exited the garden, making their way to the war room where Cullen and Josephine were already discussing a matter of supply lines to the Frostback Basin, and withdrawing the Inquisition's presence fully from the Arbor Wilds. Leliana swept into the room as silent as ever, though Cullen glanced up the moment they entered, his gaze lingering on Evelyn.

"There was a spell," Leliana supplied, drawing Cullen's attention reluctantly away from Evelyn. "It dropped our would-be assassins straight into the outer courtyard. Obviously, they took our soldiers by surprise, and from there they were able to make their way into the meeting itself."

Cullen inclined his head toward Leliana a moment before straightening, shoulders shifting just a hair backward as he assumed the air of authority that always seemed so close at hand. "The spell is unusual, as you know, Evelyn. Not a great many mages can simply transfer living, breathing beings from one place to another with no ill consequences." His level gaze, far less intimate than the one he'd previously assessed the Inquisitor with, held her attention. "I asked around, and it seems both Dagna and Dorian are convinced the spell is a very old Tevene incantation."

"Corypheus?" Evelyn queried, stepping up to the table and resting her hip against the edge. Dragging her gaze away from her lover, her eyes roamed the map of Thedas wonderingly. Was that ancient Darkspawn thing already on the move?

"That's what we believe," Leliana spoke up, confirming Evelyn's fears.

"Why has he not attempted this kind of infiltration before?"

"We believe he is desperate," Leliana continued, and both Cullen and Josephine nodded their agreement. "As Cullen's questioning has revealed, this manner of spell requires a great deal of power and skill and is cast at very high risk."

Evelyn nodded. "To the caster or those who are selected to be moved?"

"Both, apparently," Cullen replied. "We apprehended six men, but eight were sent through. We found what was left of the other two in the courtyard after things had settled down. Dorian expects the mage who is responsible for the spell absorbs a sort of recoil."

"Spells that powerful usually leave their casters' dead," Evelyn mused with a frown at the pewter marker settled over Skyhold. "Or a very skilled mage is behind it. You may think me strange for saying this, but I do not believe Corypheus possesses the aptitude for that sort of incantation."

She had attempted to explain this point several times in her life to non-mages, and each time she had failed rather spectacularly. She imagined it had a great deal to do with the fact that there was really no frame of reference for one with no magical abilities to try to relate to a mage; something that lead to a host of other problems as well throughout Thedas. Be that as it may, she was venturing to have another go of it, hoping that Cullen's experience in the Circle would give him a better understanding of what she was trying to say.

"When I have been in the same area as Corypheus, his energy, his connection to the Fade, seems rather strong. However, I would liken that more to a spirit or a demon than a mage, and while it's true that he is powerful, have you noticed that he has a very limited scope of spells he can use?" Judging by the relative silence in the room, she figured they had not perhaps scrutinized the Magister quite as closely as she. Evelyn had, after all, a face-to-face encounter with the creature in Haven. Despite their reticence, she continued, "Anyway, Corypheus draws from the Primal school of magic. That means he's rather well versed in manipulating stone, possibly lightening, but not much else."

Still they stared at her, though their eyes were not vacant as some were wont to do when she began to break down the particulars of magic use. Honestly, some people just went about thinking a mage could simply wiggle their fingers and grow a tree without any kind of practice or instruction, or that they even possessed the skill to grow a tree. Some preferred fire, like Hawke, some preferred healing magics, and others went about searching for their own skilled niche.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is that Corypheus can't cast that spell, something that would probably draw from some combination of force and spirit schools."

"That's good insight," Josephine concluded, quietly scribbling away on a new bit of parchment.

"Agreed," Leliana nodded, though Evelyn could see the wheels behind her eyes were turning furiously. "You mean to say he has another in his employ who could cast such a spell."

She felt rather foolish wording it the long way around when Leliana stated the same conclusion so succinctly. "Yes, I believe so. Though as to whether or not that person is still living remains to be seen. He had been collecting a fair number of slaves from Tevinter, though I had assumed that was more for manual labor and Red Lyrium production."

"Regardless," Cullen peered down at the map, cocking his head to one side as his eyes passed over the two-dimensional terrain, "we should treat this individual as a threat until we can confirm their existence and bring them to heel."

"I would suggest raiding another of Corypheus' strongholds, but we have taken each keep he safeguards. His new base of operations will be well hidden, even if he-"

A sound much like a thunderclap echoed throughout the chamber, rattling the windows and shaking the placement markers off the map and clear off the table. Shortly after the ear-splitting noise, the ground beneath their feet began to shift and rumble, driving the Inquisitor and her advisers to brace themselves upright with the table. The quake continued on for only a moment before a familiar sickly green glow filtered in through the paned glass windows, the mark on Evelyn's hand flaring to life.

Cullen was already at the window, growling something obscene to himself as he hurried from the room, rousing Skyhold's soldiers and civilians alike.

"The Breach," Josephine breathed, wide eyes staring out the window toward Haven.

"It appears we've found Corypheus' base," Leliana mused, following Cullen through the war room door.

Evelyn stood with Josephine for a while, looking up at the looming spectre of a horror she'd once thought she had eradicated with finality. Though the stone surrounding her and the parchment atop the war table were awash in verdant light, it felt to her as if all was cast in shadow - as if she were again walking through the Fade. Evelyn felt the pace of her heartbeat quicken as nerves struck, and she turned her eyes toward the Breach once more, curling her fingers over her scarred palm to make a fist.

This was the end. She felt it in her bones, a feeling coiling up from her chest and spreading through her limbs with quiet certainty. She was nervous, to be sure, but Evelyn was not afraid. She was resigned to end this or die trying, and that was the best she could do - that was all she could give.

"Evelyn?"

Cullen's quiet voice roused her from her reverie, his eyes searching hers when she turned to look at him. He must have returned while she had been thinking, poised between the hall and the war room as he waited and watched her.

"I'm heading out to take a look," he said, and what he'd seen in her countenance must have given him some measure of hope. "Coming along?"

"Of course," she said in reply, slipping easily into that place in her head she'd long since labeled "The Inquisitor". "It would be rude to snub such a thoughtful invitation."

* * *

 

"What  _is_  that?!"

"That'd be a demon, Tiny! You get hit in the head?"

"I know it's a demon, but did you  _see_  it? It just popped out of there!"

"It's a giant door-thingy!" Sera grunted as she fired another arrow into a Despair demon that was particularly keen on harassing Varric. "And things go through doors, yeah!"

"Thanks for the clarification!" Varric hollered back.

Cassandra and Cullen tangled with a Pride demon a short distance away, the former Templar harrying his opponent and tripping it up while Cassandra took the majority of the beast's hits. Though some men might have been irritated or even offended by Cassandra's brutal efficiency on the battlefield, Cullen had always known how to turn it to his advantage. While she pounded away at an opponent with ferocious strength, Cullen reveled in the lack of attention placed upon him by an enemy, and utilized his quick wit and quicker sword work to fell even the most aggravating opponents.

Cassandra seemed to enjoy their dynamic as well, though no one was about to ask her in her haze of bloodlust.

Evelyn remained a fair distance away with Dorian and Solas, Vivienne having absconded with Celene and the rest of the Orlesians. While Vivienne claimed no ill will toward the Inquisition, Evelyn could not help but feel the distinct insult from such a hurried departure. Though Evelyn certainly didn't mind the shrewish impudence of the Enchanter's absence, her leave taking could have only resulted from the Inquisition's lack of need for her skills - or Evelyn's lack of need, as it were. Thoughts of old colleagues aside and their missing party member, the mages did their part, certainly. Dorian made short work of those demons susceptible to his unique talents as a necromancer, and Solas tried his utmost to mitigate the Breach's demon-summoning power with his rift magic. Evelyn knew a little of it, having watched the elf time and again, but she was more concerned with keeping everyone alive.

Despite the annoying green light bleeding from her palm, Evelyn turned her palms upward, her back straight as a rod as she concentrated. Reaching past the Veil and into the Fade, she found the source, grabbing hold of that brand of magic and pulling it through the Veil and into her body, then releasing it with one heavy sigh. Mass heals were always taxing, but she found herself far less tired at the conclusion of the spell than she would have been years ago when she first began her tenure as Inquisitor.

"There! Above us!" Solas called, snapping Evelyn's attention skyward where that all-too familiar, terrifying screech bellowed down into the valley where they were standing. Corypheus' fake Archdemon had found them.

The beast wheeled about the sky, a dark shadow against the blinding light of the Breach.

"How do you suppose we deal with it?" Dorian asked. "Isn't that how Corypheus travels from body to body?"

"Easy! Kill it!" Bull called from ahead while Cullen and Cassandra hurried back to the mages, the Pride demon lying dead behind them. Dorian scoffed at the Qunari's suggestion, as if merely killing it was something he hadn't already thought of. He remained silent, however, quashing his irritation.

The Archdemon roared again and turned, suddenly flipping head over tail and speeding toward their position with clearly only one intention on its mind.

"Fall back!" Cullen ordered his men, positioning himself and his shield in front of Evelyn.

Just as the great thing opened its maw, igniting Lyrium fire on its breath, a second dragon appeared, careening into the Archdemon's side and sending it plummeting through the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

The second dragon landed on a high wall, razor-sharp claws transforming into booted feet, and in moments Morrigan stood there. She turned sharply, catching Evelyn's gaze over the mayhem.

"Inquisitor! I shall take care of the Archdemon! You must go on ahead and find Corypheus. He lies in wait for you at the top!" She extended a long pale finger up the broken stairway as it lead several stories off ground and into the sky.

Evelyn followed with her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. This was it. Suddenly, she felt Cullen's warm, gloved fingers encompass her own.

His grip tightened on her, the uncertainty and determination warring in the depth of his eyes as they mirrored her own. When he spoke, his voice was that quiet, assured rumble that never failed to give her strength. "I'll be right beside you."

* * *

 

"Sitting here while the world falls apart is ridiculous," Alistair grumbled, crossing his arms as he looked out over the ramparts and toward the softly glowing horror of the Breach.

Anora snorted quietly, perhaps the most unladylike thing he'd ever heard her do in polite company, and said, "Be reasonable, Alistair. The Inquisition has this well in hand. There is no conscionable justification to send you out to your death."

"Assuming I'd die," he replied petulantly, but couldn't really argue her logic. Anora was many things. Stupid was not one of them.

His sister-in-law rolled her eyes and turned about, her pale blue eyes narrowing on a familiar figure of a boy down in the garden below. "Alistair?"

"Hmm?"

"That boy you were speaking with earlier, do you know to whom he belongs?"

Trust Anora to liken a child to an object.

"He is Morrigan's son,"  _and mine_ , he added silently, not daring to drop the curse of his royal blood onto Kieran's lap. The King turned away from the breach to follow Anora's line of sight, and spotted the boy studying a heavy wooden door leading off the breezeway. Simply the way he was studying it reminded Alistair of Solona, or any mage who took a distinct curiosity in a perplexing object.

"I see. What is he-?"

"I'll be right back!" Alistair waved behind him as he descended the steps into the courtyard, making his way over to the boy to discover just what had captured his attention. With the Breach active nearby, it was probably best not to take any chances.

Before he could reach Kieran, however, the boy strode forward, opened the heavy wooden door, and entered the room. Alistair quickly followed, but as he crossed the threshold and his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he found only an old mirror, half covered with a thick canvas dust cloth.

There was no sign of his son.

"Strraaange," Alistair mused to himself, approaching the mirror and finding it warm with magic. Though his time with the Templars was short, and his skills far more limited than Cullen's, Alistair could still make out the slow burning signature of magic in this room. Carefully, he reached out a hand, fingertips brushing against the worn glass surface of the eluvian.

The artifact flared to life beneath his touch, nearly startling him a moment before he pressed the pads of his fingers harder against the glass, and found it moveable - a bit like a curtain.

Casting one searching look over his shoulder to check and see if Anora's disapproving scowl had followed him here, he walked through the portal and found himself in a decidedly creepy location.

Still no sign of Kieran, but rocks and slimy water-stuff aplenty as far as the eye could see. Perhaps a bit belatedly, he noticed the green hue of his surroundings and the sky above echoed that of the Breach, and suddenly felt himself grow worried.

If Kieran had come here willingly, something must have called him. Surely a boy his age wouldn't come to this lonesome, eerie place of his own accord. Fearing the child may have become the thrall of a demon, Alistair hurried his steps, splashing through the strange ooze and feeling the frigid chill of the air seep through his armor and bite at his skin.

"Kieran!" he shouted, rounding a corner between two impossibly large boulders.

"I'm here," came the boy's reply. He sounded calm, but Alistair had been tricked in places of this nature before.

"Please, Maker, don't let it be like Connor," he murmured to himself, heading in the direction of his son's voice. Eventually he heard another with him, and that perhaps chilled him far more than the air or the thought of a demon possessing his son.

A heavy feeling settling in his stomach as he walked on, and it dropped straight to his feet when he saw Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, kneeling in front of Kieran. Alistair approached them slowly, noticing how the woman's feline eyes watched his every step.

For his part, Kieran didn't seem to feel the tension, and looked up at Alistair with a small smile. "My grandmother."

"Ye-" Alistair cleared his throat, voice having come out a bit more shaky than he would have liked, "yes. I know."

Kieran turned his attention back to the woman. "I heard you calling. Why didn't you come before?"

Flemeth's tone was impossibly gentle as she addressed the boy, and Alistair stood by and watched them. He did not do so helplessly, though. He had simply learned to temper his gut reactions in favor of reading a situation accurately, and then acting upon it. Solona had taught him that invaluable skill, having suffered the worst of his thoughtless outbursts in the time they'd known each other.

"It was not the right time," Flemeth said, features soft as she regarded the boy, "and I didn't know where you were. Now, however, I can do what I've intended for the last ten years."

The sound of ringing steel drowned out the last of her statement, and those eyes drifted lazily toward Alistair.

"Leave him be," he spoke firmly.

"I will not hurt him, young king," Flemeth drawled, though she motioned Alistair to come closer. "I simply wish to remove the Old Soul from Kieran's body."

Alistair must not have looked very convinced, so she added. "By all means, come closer. If I injure the boy, then you may strike me down."

Still dubious, Alistair's gaze found Kieran's, and the boy offered him a small smile. "I won't have nightmares anymore."

Flemeth smiled, really smiled, and Alistair thought it might have been the creepiest thing he'd ever seen. "That's right," she said, "no more nightmares."

The woman held her hands aloft in front of Kieran's chest, and within moments a tiny orb of light was drawn out of his chest and disappeared into Flemeth's. All was well, save that the boy wobbled a little unsteadily on his feet afterward.

"I leave him to you now," Flemeth said as she watched Alistair wrap a supporting arm around her grandsont, the King's eyes searching his child for any sign of injury before falling to her.

She almost laughed at the sneer he gave her, musing on the awkward boy he himself had once been. "I want nothing more from you," she explained. "He's an average boy now, all human and rife with magic. The Old God's soul is safe with me."

"I'm not sure if anything is really safe with you," Alistair spoke, standing and placing a hand on Kieran's shoulder, "but I suppose I should thank you."

"No need. You have done me a favor as well."

"Why do I get the feeling you're up to something?"

The Witch merely laughed, the sound carrying across the stone around them.

* * *

 

The Magister's blow glanced off Cullen's shield, the magical barrier flashing brightly at the impact as the Commander shoved the creature backwards.

"Witness me!" Corypheus bellowed, holding aloft in one hand the orb that started this entire mess.

Cullen stepped backward, keeping close to Evelyn while holding Corypheus at bay. Just the Inquisitor and her Commander and one very annoying tag-along had made it to the top of the broken tower, and now they squared off, sore and weary, but ready for a fight. Evelyn had held her own in the battle, doing well to rebuff Corypheus' lethal advances and keeping Cullen hale while Friend served as a rather cunning distraction to the Magister.

She had misstepped, however, when Corypheus advanced again. Cullen blocked his blow, but the creature spun to the side, catching the Commander behind the knees with his elongated nails.

Evelyn felt her heart stutter to a stop. "Cullen!"

Corypheus didn't stop at that, however, drawing his hand to deal the final blow. "Witness my ascension to glory! I will tear down the Veil and walk the halls of the golden city with my own two feet, and every spirit, every demon will bow down to my whim!"

Evelyn felt the edges of her vision grow hazy before she summoned every ounce of her power from the Fade, feeling her blood run hot as the bulk of it flowed through her, coupled with her rage.

"You want into the Fade?" Evelyn asked, a hard edge to her voice as she demanded the Magister's attention.

She flexed the fingers on her marked hand, willing all of her power into that single spot on her body. "Alright." Evelyn raised her hand to the sky, eyes hard as they looked at her enemy, unflinching. "As you wish!"

She pulled, she pulled the Veil, she pulled the magic storming about her, and she pulled her hand down from above her head, rending a massive rift in the sky directly above the Magister's head.

Some might have found the look on Corypheus' face comical when he first discovered the intent of that rift, but most would have agreed that in the end - when he was screaming and begging, when bits of his flesh and bone tore away from his body to be flung skyward, when boney stubs of fingers clawed frantically at the ground for purchase - that justice had merely been served.

When Corypheus had finally disappeared bodily into the rift, Evelyn unclenched her fingers and let out a measured breath, focusing as she pulled the Veil closed once more. The Breach followed shortly thereafter, and it was with a dizzying lack of energy that the Inquisitor stumbled over to her "Cullen?" she asked, fingers flying over his wound.

Cullen had made his way closer to Evelyn as she closed the Breach, a fierce limp in his right leg from where the mage has tagged him. He paused when she fell before him, kneeling in front of her with a small grimace, and watched her with a curious mix of awe and relief as her small hands assessed his injury. It was a flesh wound, nothing so bad as he'd ever received during his training as a recruit, and yet the embarrassment of the fact that he'd let his guard down at all chafed him worse than a bloodied leg. Perhaps he should have considered quartering his dose of Lyrium instead of halving it.

"I'm here," he said, prying her fingers away from him and drawing her hands into his own. "I'm alright. Are  _you_  okay?"

She nodded, eyelids drooping. "Tired."

He laughed, a one-note huff of a sound as he gathered her against him and felt the spindly remnants of her magic wash over him as she attempted a healing spell. "I'll bet."

Cullen looked around the top of the tower, spying nothing out of the ordinary. The sky was blue, the mountains surrounding them were dark spired jutting up against the sky and topped with snow, and everything was quiet.

"Hey, huggie, can we get out of here? This tower is giving me the creeps."

Well, almost quiet.

Cullen rose to his feet, holding Evelyn in his arms as he made his way down the tower stairs and back to Skyhold.

* * *

 

"Going so soon?" Evelyn asked, smiling brightly at Alistair, Anora and Teagen as they stood in the lower courtyard, horses at the ready and armed guards waiting nearby.

"Oh, trust me, I'd love to stay, but Anora gets so grumpy when she's away from her own bed, and I do have a great deal of work to do." Anora scowled at his comment, but Alistair blithely ignored her. "Thanks again - for saving the world, I mean. You'll always be welcome in Ferelden, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan. Bring your Commander sometime."

Evelyn nodded. "I will, your Majesty. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise."

"Excuse me.." A small voice interrupted them, and both the King and the Inquisitor turned to find Kieran regarding Alistair with a question in his eyes.

Evelyn turned away to give them a moment, and spotted Morrigan hovering nearby, though she made no move to stop her son.

Alistair crouched down in front of Kieran, the pair sharing smiles that almost perfectly mirrored one another. "Guess this is so long for now."

"I wanted to say goodbye."

"Maybe goodbye isn't what we should be saying," Alistair mused, reaching into his coat pocket to withdraw a small ring. The gold piece showed the likeness of two Mabari, like that on the arms of house Theirin. "This," he said, finding his son's eyes, "is just for you. If you ever need anything, come to Denerim's palace and show this ring, alright?"

Kieran took the ring, still much too large for his thin fingers. "Alright, but what is it we should be saying?"

"Until we meet again."

Kieran nodded, childlike innocence suffusing his small countenance. "Of course."

"A fine sentiment, Alistair," Leliana said, smile evident in her voice. Josephine and Cullen stood beside her, with the Commander's arms draped over the Inquisitor's shoulders and the rest of Skyhold gathering behind them.

"Until we meet again."

* * *

 

"What about the mage?"

"Mage?" Evelyn asked, drawing the bedclothes back as she settled herself onto the mattress.

She watched Cullen undress, unable to help the small indulgent smile at the sight of his bared chest.

"Are you listening?" he asked, wry smile quirking the corner of his mouth upward.

Her eyes immediately snapped back to his, and she had the grace to blush at her oogling. "Of course."

"Uh huh."

Cullen strode toward the bed and climbed on, crawling over to her as she sat with her hands folded primly in her lap. "You said something about a mage."

He hummed, pressing a kiss to her bare knee. "Yes. The one who transported those men into Skyhold during the peace summit. None of Corypheus' supporters have revealed themselves to be a mage with such power, and yet we know at least one exists."

"Perhaps the spell backfired, as we thought," she replied, running her fingers through his hair as he pressed another kiss to her inner thigh.

"Perhaps. I believe we should still look into it. Something doesn't add up.

Evelyn smiled fondly at him, tugging gently on a springy strand of hair. "A sound plan. Though I seem to recall instructing you to not bring work to bed."

"Is that what I'm doing?" he asked, pressing another kiss a bit higher on her thigh, inching up the fabric of her shift.

Evelyn laughed, the sensation of his stubble tickling her thigh sending her into a fit of giggles. That was when Cullen pounced, drawing her beneath him and assaulting her with a hundred featherlight kisses.

"Tomorrow, then."

* * *

 

In the aftermath of the War on the Breach and the destruction of Corypheus, the Inquisition remained strong and influential within Skyhold's walls. Evelyn's inner circle went their separate ways.

Blackwall had been found guilty of murder, and despite Cullen pulling a few favors for his release from an Orlesian prison, the man had decided to atone for his actions by leaving for Weisshaupt and requesting the Joining from the senior Wardens there. Josephine was devastated at his departure, and had since taken a temporary leave of absence and traveled to Antiva to visit her family.

Sera, much to everyone's surprise, had been requested in Denerim, her skills desired for training the newest unit of Night Elves. Leliana had followed their little trickster a few days later, claiming a great interest in Alistair and Anora's little project with the elves from Val Royeaux's alienage.

Cassandra had become Divine, and several months after the defeat of the last of the invading Venatori she took up the Sunburst throne and sent Evelyn dozens of letters detailing how very much she wished to burn her ridiculous hat. Evelyn continued to feed her friend her findings and research of the Chantry's checkered past, and Cassandra took her concerns seriously. Vivienne had begun petitioning Cassandra to reinstate the Circles, and while the Divine had thus far ignored the Enchanter's appeals, she did extend an open invitation to every mage in Thedas to come study at the White Spire - under Templar supervision, of course. Apparently a great many mages had taken her up on her offer.

Bull and his Chargers remained in Skyhold, the horned spy having seriously pissed off his Qunari kin by disobeying a direct order. Following such a demand would have lost him his Chargers, and it seemed he would rather deal with simple assassins than suffer the loss of his rag-tag little family.

Dorian had, reluctantly, returned to Tevinter. The Altus had learned much in his time with the Inquisition, and was eager to get started reforming his homeland, and educating his peers on the devastation Corypheus had wrought, and the damage the Venatori had done to their global reputation. He sent word of his progress often to Skyhold, letters addressed most frequently to Cullen, though Bull received a fair few he was eager to brag about.

Varric had returned to Kirkwall, where apparently Hawke had once again taken up residence in her ancestral family home. Peter had been formally reinstated as a Seeker, and was currently away on a mission with Ferelden, though he spent most of his time with Hawke and her friends at the Hanged Man. Evelyn had never seen him so happy.

Solas had disappeared shortly after Corypheus' defeat, and where he had run off to was anyone's guess. Evelyn simply prayed for his safe journey, just as she had for Morrigan and her son when they had decided to leave Skyhold.

Meanwhile, Cullen and Evelyn began to plan their wedding. Cole would help with simpler tasks, having expressed a desire to pick the flowers. Friend had made some rude comment about picking noses instead.

Evelyn and Cullen were taking their time about it all, for they knew something the rest of Thedas did not, though Cole might have been able to testify. The night after they had said goodbye to Alistair, the two had sneaked into the little Chantry off of the garden breezeway and been married. There was no Chantry sister, and no Revered Mother to wed them, though they figured they didn't rightly need a witness for their simple exchange of vows.

It seemed as if everyone was finally content, but they all knew the arduous task of healing Thedas would be a long and drawn-out struggle. Despite the hardship and promise of difficulty, the people trusted the Inquisition and respected what it stood for. Surely, there was now light at the end of the tunnel.

 

THE END


	25. Notes and other things!

Hello everyone! I'm updating this tale to let you all know that its sequel _Gods of the Abyss_ is now being posted! You can check it out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4047268/chapters/9105514).

You can also find me on tumblr now! My handle is kuranova08.

Thanks again, and have an awesome day!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Agents of Change: Reformation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816694) by [Eisen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisen/pseuds/Eisen)




End file.
